


Nightshade and Colovian Wine

by bluRaaven



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, M/M, Organized Crime, Romance, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-03-03 21:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2888858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluRaaven/pseuds/bluRaaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 4E 201 the Imperial City is a hive of intrigue and cutthroat politics, broiling with civil unrest while the crumbling Empire stands on the very brink of a war with the rebellious Nord country, Skyrim. It is a dangerous place to be, full of equally dangerous people – and none more so than Wulfryk Blacktyde, scion of the once-proud Aemilia family, young entrepreneur by day and notorious crime boss by night.</p><p>By comparison Argis is just a security guard who has fallen on hard times.</p><p>'Modern' Tamriel AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wulf

The old leather recliner creaked softly as the man in it leaned back. It was the only sound to break the silence apart from the harsh breathing of the figure sitting on the other side of the massive bocote desk. 'The other side' being where no person ever wanted to end up, because it meant having to perch on a _very_ uncomfortable chair, all the while getting a crick in the neck from having to look up at the Imperial City's most influential magnate.

Because it also meant they had fucked up.

The unfortunate woman to currently find herself under the scrutiny of her erstwhile employer's icy blue gaze was in her mid to late thirties. Her shoulder long ash brown hair stuck to her damp face in curly tresses. Sweat beaded a brow yet unmarred by wrinkles and her dark skin had a waxen pallor to it. She was shaking, and not because of the temperature of the room.

But then being apprehended on one's way home, trussed up and tossed in the cargo area of van would do that to any person.

"I am very disappointed, Saadia."

The Redguard jerked at the mention of her name, eyes wide, and shook her head, lips forming soundless words.

Wulfryk Blacktyde studied her in the dimmed light of his desk lamp. The Nord had his right ankle drawn up to rest atop his left knee, one arm casually draped over his seat's backrest. His head was cocked just a fraction to the side in a parody of honest curiosity.

His charcoal suit was freshly pressed, his pose relaxed, but just like the setup was carefully chosen for intimidation, he had studied it in great detail and on many a occasion.

"I received a report today. Somebody's leaked the schedules for our latest shipment to Skyrim."

When he did not receive an answer, Wulfryk gestured lazily with one hand and a tall, wiry woman stepped out of the deep shadows in the room's corner. Saadia flinched with every click of heels against stone. She struggled to turn around, pitching forward in the chair, but it was in vain. Then a slim but strong hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her head back.

"Well?"

Some who were brought before him babbled as soon as their gag was removed, a veritable fountain gushing apologies and pleas in equal measure. The Redguard was of the defiant, sullen kind.

The Nord met his enforcer's eyes and inclined his head. Sometimes, a little motivation was needed to get an unwilling tongue to wag.

If the bonds had not held her in place Saadia would have doubled over as the fist crashed into her abdomen. When, after she had caught her breath, the Redguard still did not talk, Jenassa cracked her knuckles and slapped her soundly across the face, whipping the bound woman's head around.

That's why Wulf liked her. Talos knew he did not keep the Dunmer around for her looks. She had a harsh, bony face and a too pointy chin to be ever called beautiful, but she was efficient.

Saadia sobbed, blood and spit running from a split lip. Wulf gave her a moment to rethink her dedication to obstinacy before he feigned a sigh.

"Break her knees."

Jenassa moved without hesitation.

"Wait!" the Redguard shrieked suddenly and Wulfryk held up his hand to signal Jenassa to do just that. "I didn't do it!"

The Nord shook his head, the tips of his black bangs shading his eyes. It was the wrong answer and they both knew it. Saadia just had not realized it yet.

"Is that so?" he asked.

"It wasn't me," Saadia cried, voice too shrill. "I didn't do it!"

"Hmm," Wulfryk hummed and picked up his as of yet untouched glass of water, swirling the liquid inside once before he raised it to his lips and took a measured sip. "Are you sure?" He wiped his upper lip with his fore and middle finger, the short hairs of his well-trimmed beard making a soft scratching sound against the calloused pads of his fingers.

"It wasn't me."

It came out in an almost petulant whisper and was probably wishful thinking on the prisoner's part. Why did it always have to be like this? Wulf's hands opened briefly before coming together again, the woman's eyes following every studied movement. "So you said." He pointed an accusing finger right at Saadia's face with the hand that still held the glass. "Which is funny because I have witnesses that saw you talk to some friends of yours behind the loading docks two nights ago."

"They're lying! I swear it wasn't me!" A pink tongue appeared between her cracked lips, dabbing at the corner. "It was that Nazeem!"

A hopeless case, he should have known from the start. Wulf could play this game all night but, frankly, he had better things to do. He reached into his desk's right hand drawer and pulled out a manila envelope, letting it fall open in his palm. He thumbed through the papers inside until he pulled out a glossy print that showed Saadia and two men in the traditional garb of the Alik'r.

There were more, but he needed only the one.

Wulf spun the picture so that Saadia could look at herself as she handed over a sealed envelope to the shorter of her countrymen. If they'd only done something harmless such as refreshing an old penpalship or trading appallingly syrupy love poems there would have been no reason for her to lie about it.

"Lydia's got quite the talent, wouldn't you say?" Wulfryk remarked lightly, half to his prisoner and half to the woman at his side. "Maybe she should consider branching out."

Janassa snorted dryly and proceeded to pick something from between her teeth.

It was impossible for a person of Saadia's complexion to turn green, but she did manage a wonderful shade of raw umber.

Wulf dropped the envelope and leaned forward, immaculately manicured nails clicking over the polished granite inlayed into his desk's tabletop. "Now. How about you tell me the truth?"

"They made me! Said they were going to take me back if I didn't give them what they wanted! Kematu-"

"You should have taken your chances with Kematu."

Wulfryk did not need to tell Saadia what happened to double-crossing bitches, nor how serious the situation was. The damage had already been done. He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled them up slowly. When he was done he pulled the other object from the already open drawer and put it down where the lamp's light caught the black of the metal. Saadia began to sob when she saw him assemble the gun. She did not know that he had a perfectly serviceable one on him, but this was his game and he played it to the end.

When word got out, and despite the limited amount of participants in this little get-together – soon to be reduced further – it would, Wulfryk wanted people to fall on their knees and beg for forgiveness for harbouring _thoughts_ about crossing him.

"I was going to let you live," the Nord began conversationally as he screwed on the silencer on the pistol. "But I don't like it when people lie to me."

"You bastard!" Saadia screeched, rocking her chair and yelled more obscenities, her face a blotchy red in colour and wet with tears.

"Hush," Wulf told her kindly. "You will upset mother." It didn't matter. She wouldn't hear the gun, and she wouldn't hear any screams. He slid magazine in with a firm tap, like slapping the butt of one of the Lucky Strike's serving girls. It clicked into place and Wulf stood up and stretched, grimacing when a vertebra popped in his lower back. He released the safety and racked the gun.

He aimed it at her heart and squeezed the trigger.

Two cracks echoed in the empty space and Saadia slumped forward, held up only by the rope that bound her to the chair, her string of profanities cut short. Wulfryk put down the gun and flicked the switch on the desk lamp.

The show was over.

Wulf knew his way around his bureau even in the dark. When he turned on the ceiling light on his way out it was only for his remaining employee's sake.

"Jenassa, take out the trash."

He did not usually carry out executions at the family estate, but this had come up rather unexpectedly and at this hour he wanted to make the trip to a suitable location even less than he wanted to ruin his carpet. At least once she was done bagging the body, Janessa didn't have to haul it far. Not that Wulf planned to lend a hand. He did his own dirty work, but he did not clean up.

"Take the chair too," he tossed over his shoulder, nose wrinkling in disgust. "It's got piss all over it."

Saadia had no family and nobody would miss her. Overall Wulf's favourite type of employee. Like most of the others she had come to him from Whiterun. When the city had been burned to the ground – by dragons of all things – many of its former residents had ventured south. Those that were caught in the Imperial City's web of intrigue or Wulfryk's own nets never left again.

 

From the second basement level an elevator took Wulf past the garage and the main hall, and to the upper floor. The ride was short and he used the time to check his appearance in the mirror to make sure there were no stray droplets of blood on his suit. He wanted to spare his delicate mother the sight. And besides, they would be impossible to get out once they set in.

Wulf was glad to step out of the elevator and into the dark corridor of the mansion. The muted lights inside gave his skin a sallow look. He rounded the corner only to be beset by two ash-coloured greyhounds that crowded around his legs, yelping and licking his hands.

The guard that followed on their heels did neither, but he inclined his head respectfully.

"All's quiet. Lady Aemilia has retired to her private quarters," he responded to an unasked question.

Wulf resisted the sudden urge to scratch the other man's ear as well. If he didn't get permanently stuck to the gel, then the grumpy Nord's pride wouldn't take it well, though somehow he did stomach both bad poetry and foreign foodstuff and in remarkable quantities at that. He also had a twin, big hairy and dumb, and far better company. Wulf hired their like by the pounds, but somewhere along the way these two had become family.

He continued on, past the main staircase and taking a turn to the right. Light was spilling from under a door at the end of the hallway and Wulf rapped his knuckles against the wood before he entered. The marble bathroom was flooded in soft light from the crystal chandeliers overhead and a woman in a pastel salmon evening gown turned when she heard him knock. Her greying hair was artfully done up, a collier of pearls gracing her pale neck. She smiled when she saw him.

"Hello, mother." Wulfryk kissed her soft, powdered cheek. She smelled of something flowery and fresh that he remembered from his childhood. "You look gorgeous tonight."

"Good evening, darling." One of her hands came to rest on his bearded cheek, her dark, expressive eyes crinkling at the corners.

Eleanora Catalina Aemilia was a woman whose beauty had only increased over the years.

Wulf washed his hands at one of the sinks, and tried to dry them off with one of the plush towels that he suspected were purely decorative and true to his prediction proved water-repellent. "How was the Tullia's party?"

"Delightful. I am ever grateful your father rescued me from a life of being married to Brutus. Did you know he is being dispatched to Skyrim?"

Wulf grunted in answer. "Let's hope snow agrees with him." He checked his watch and bit his tongue before an inopportune curse could slip out.

His mother picked up on her son's distraction, a single line forming on her forehead. "Are you leaving again?"

"Just going out with some friends. It's pool night," he reminded her. And thanks to Saadia he no longer had time to change clothes. "I'm running late."

"Did anything... happen?" Her voice carried worry, but also a hint of knowing that made Wulf duck his head in order to escape the gaze of the only person who could read him like an open book.

He cleared his throat before answering. "Business."

His mother's mouth went flat, the fine lines around it hardening. She acknowledged his answer in the same way she always did when he mentioned his _other_ work, the one he had taken over after his father had stepped down. It was an unspoken agreement between them. She did not ask and he did not talk about it.

"I met Lady Maeve," Leanora radically changed the subject with a flurry of activity as she disappeared into her evening bag right up to her elbows. "They have a surname now, thanks to her grandson. _An Daingneach_."

"Hm?" Wulf didn't look up from the assortment of cologne bottles that he was sniffing, trying to choose the right scent for the night. "Doesn't sound Nord."

"That's because it is isn't," his mother replied. "Her family comes from the Reach, remember?"

Wulf didn't and neither could he say that he cared. He did not see where this was going or what it had to do with him when his mother suddenly handed him a folded card.

"Here. This is for you."

"A gift? For me? You shouldn't have." Although he knew that she would remain unmoved by it, Wulfryk turned the full force of his smile on his lady mother. He did not open the card, holding the creamy slip of paper between his fingers like it might bite him.

Eleanora chuckled; a rich throaty sound. "It's your date."

Wulf managed to keep up his smile through sheer force of habit. It was not the first such appointment his mother had arranged for him and it probably would not be the last. Secretly he believed that she took a twisted sort of pleasure whenever he turned down one of her friends' daughters and in knowing that she was the only woman in his life.

Apart from Toots and Lydia, though Wulf wasn't sure whether Lydia counted. She was rude, drank beer and got into belching contests with her boyfriends.

"I'm not interested," he pointed out like he did every time.

And just like every time, she ignored him. "Don't be silly, darling. It's just dinner."

Wulfryk sighed and pocketed the card without sparing it another glance. "Let me guess," he said in a tone both honeyed and scathing; a trademark of all wealthy and influential sons who did not dare to cuss in their mothers' faces. "She studied law in Shornhelm? Or the arts in Alinor?"

Being the city's most eligible bachelor wasn't nearly half as fun as it sounded. Even less so when everybody expected him to do something about it.

"Oh, nothing of the kind, I assure you."

Wulf did not trust the sparkle that suddenly flared to life in his mother's black eyes. It could have been just a reflection from the candelabras. It could also have been a sign of possession or another gate to Oblivion opening. Wulf checked his pockets for his wallet and turned smartly, knowing a lost cause and when it was prudent to beat a retreat. "I've got to go."

"I _do_ expect you to attend." All merriment was gone and Lady Aemilia had taken Leanora's place.

"I always do," Wulf grumbled, feeling sufficiently chastened despite the lack of an actual reprimand. He did not check his stride or look back, only waved on his way out with the hand that was clutched around his car keys.

Now it was his mother's turn to make a small 'hm' sound. Unlike his own unrefined, caveman-like grunts however, hers carried an air of disapproval tipped off with a ton of implication about the lecture he'd receive if he did not make good on that assurance. "Be punctual."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is an idea that's taken hold of me during the holidays. Not sure when I'll continue. Probably after I finish AVitD or finally begin VoF. A new chapter of HT is on the way. It should be out before the month is over.


	2. Argis

The best thing to be said about the bureau was that once he was inside, Argis no longer had to look at the building – a squat block with brown reflective windows set into a facade of dirty concrete. Because it was midday it was mostly empty, the employees having filed out to enjoy their well-deserved break in gaggles of twos or threes until the only persons left were Argis and the receptionist. Her name tag read 'Sybilla', but Argis did not intend to get personal enough with her to ever use her name. She had to be in her middle forties, one of those women who didn't know when to admit their age and stop dressing like teenagers. Rectangular, colourful glasses framed bored eyes. She was peeking over their rims as she read, large shimmering disks dangling from her ears. With her short spiky hair, most likely dyed and gelled to stand up, she reminded him of a puffed-up condor.

Argis coughed into his fist – better than laughing out loud – and shifted, crossing his legs at the ankle. The quiet of the waiting room was disturbed only by the hum of the ceiling fan, its blades rotating lazily and doing nothing to improve the air which was thick with the smells of smoke and stale coffee. Underlying those was a faint odour of _office_ : a most unenticing mix of sweat, paper, and cleaning agents.

Argis wouldn't be here at all if he didn't need the money. He was low on cash and behind on his rent and he'd rather the landlord not shut down his electricity. Argis consoled himself with the thought that if that happened he could always stay with his grandmother. He knew that she wouldn't mind, but he'd still feel like he was imposing. Grandmother Maeve was the only family he had here and a sweet old lady who kept sending him more meals than he could eat alone. Argis only wished she wasn't as keen on meddling in his private life.

The Nord had come to Cyrodiil with only two duffel bags of his belongings and a reputation that landed him a job on his first interview. Things hadn't gone smoothly after that. Now he didn't own anything of value and he couldn't sell the beaten-up truck he had to drive since he had wracked his motorcycle.

Varus had hired him before. Hopefully, he would again.

Argis moved again, transferring his weight to his other leg and counted the dead flies trapped by a piece of sticky tape that hung from the ceiling. He had been offered a seat and refused, preferring to stand in the doorway with his arms crossed. The dinky chairs looked like they might break down under his bulk and he was going to spare himself the indignity of having to pick his ass off the lime green linoleum floor.

The receptionist licked a finger with a neon pink fake nail attached to it and turned a page of her glossy gentleman's magazine. A small table in the room's corner was drowning under the number of journals filled with ads for watches that Argis could not afford and grooming products that he did not use. This month's special apparently was an interview with some successful businessman.

Sybilla was staring at him like he was the love of her life.

Argis coughed again then ventured another glance at the cover. If he met the guy in a bar he wouldn't hesitate to ask him out, provided that people like him frequented the same locals Argis did and that he wasn't put off by the blatant display of wealth first. That outfit looked expensive. Hell, the guy's _haircut_ looked expensive. He had short black hair, just the perfect degree of mussed up that walked the line between casual and professional that Sybilla probably wished she had and would never achieve, and bangs that were just shy of falling into his eyes. The man was laughing, striking blue eyes that could only be photoshopped or contacts sparkling over a radiant white smile which was framed by a neatly trimmed beard. Argis fought the absurd urge to smile back, because the damned picture just oozed charisma.

The nameless businessman was by far the most attractive thing in the whole building.

He also looked like a Nord. Argis wondered if he was.

Just then the door to Varus' office opened and young man strode out, chest first. The rest was burly, beardless and utterly unremarkable, but judging by the spring in his step, the lad's application had been a success.

The snowberry was wearing a suit. Argis didn't even own a bloody suit.

His everyday wear consisted of combat boots, cargo pants in the colour 'mud' – it said so right on the washed out label that was no longer readable – and black or white shirts only, to keep laundry simple. Today it was black. His brown leather jacket was folded and hung from his forearm.

Argis had been born and raised in the Reach and even at their worst Imperial winters were milder than Skyrim in the springtime.

He moved for Varus' office. The Nord understood not interrupting two people in the middle of an interview, but he would not wait to be called upon like a dog. The receptionist noticed too late and began to protest, only for Argis to ignore her and brush past, shouldering open the doors that led to the crammed room. One glimpse was all it took Argis to verify that the place had not changed since the last time he had been here.

Varus was broad with a moustache that didn't quite distract from his receding hairline and bags under his eyes that could probably do double duty as grocery bags if he ever forgot to bring any. He was also currently standing behind his desk which disappeared under the papers spread out over it. Argis didn't think the ambience of the room could get any lower without hitting the sub-basement, but a dusty plastic plant and a toy dog that bobbed its head when you touched it did a marvellous job of both serving as anti-decoration and making him rethink his former opinion.

Argis' eye came to rest on a golden triangle with an engraving of Varus' name that was being misused as a paperweight and he wondered if the Imperial needed the daily reminder to keep track of it.

He cleared his throat. "Heard you were short on manpower. Want to hire somebody who won't get your client killed?" Argis was a firm believer of getting straight to the point.

Varus had never been as much his boss as an intermediary between Argis and the people who were in need of his services. The Imperial had furthermore been glaring at him from the moment he had entered without waiting for an invitation. But because it was difficult to feel cowed by a man who barely reached his shoulder, Argis didn't even bother pretending for the other guy's ego.

Varus rummaged around in his junkyard of a desk and fished out a cigar, clipped the end and lit it. He took a deep drag and grunted in pleasure, sinking into a chair that groaned under his weight. The gesture lost all meaning because Argis knew that it was a cheap cigar, just like the brown tweed suit was old and too short in the arms as well as too loose in the shoulders. Opulent blue plumes of smoke began to waft around the Imperial man's sagging jowls, smelling like a burning heap of dung.

Argis was thoroughly unimpressed. He might not look much better clothing-wise, but he at least wasn't pretending to be something he was not. Which would be anything except for a guy who was remarkably good at killing people – and if he turned his talent to a less destructive use, also fairly good at keeping them alive.

"Well, well. Didn't think we'd see _you_ here again," Varus spoke around the butt end of his cigar, his words distorted.

Argis shrugged. He'd had his reasons for leaving – good ones – and he had a reason for coming back – less so – but still. It wasn't like he could change anything about what had happened, so it was better not to dwell on it.

"What makes you think I want you back?" the Imperial sneered when he received no answer.

"The fact that I know you're covering for a politically important client who's pissed off the wrong people," Argis replied. "How many agents of yours can handle potential assassinations?" The answer was that as far as he knew he was the only one with more field experience than theoretical education. "Don't tell me it's that milksop from before," Argis said with a jut of his chin towards the door and a dark chuckle.

Varus' mean soured. "You don't fulfil the requirements," he stated with a pointed squint at the Nord's scarred face.

Argis' amusement died right in his throat. "Because of the eye." One-eyed bodyguards were about as high in demand as amputee recruits. Which was not at all. Nobody wanted to hire him again despite his outstanding recommendations. From two Jarls, no less. Fucking Imperials and their adherence to bullshit formalities.

"That too."

"Look." Argis squeezed the bridge of his nose, knowing he should show a modicum of tact and decorum and forsaking both at the same instance he thought of them. He'd been told that his attitude was a problem on many an occasion. It was funny how people forgot about that the minute he saved their ungrateful asses. "Do you want the guy to live or not?"

Varus chewed on his cigar and Argis could practically see the wheels turning behind his small eyes. Lots of money to be made for the bureau as well as a good name for the man running it versus having to take back the best man who had ever worked for this shithole. Didn't seem like too bad a deal, did it?

Apparently Varus arrived at the same conclusion. "There's nothing wrong with your work," the Imperial admitted with forced cheer. "It's _you_ I don't fucking like."

"The feeling's mutual," Argis snorted. "But we both know you don't have anybody else for the job. So– "

Varus' fat fingers, covered in golden rings, drummed on the table. "I can assign you with Yngvar, Darius and Rufus," he finally decided.

Argis barely suppressed a curse that included the Imperial's mother, a hagraven and a herd of goats, all involved in behaviour of the indecent kind. He settled for "That's not my team" instead.

"Apart from not being your team any longer, they already have an assignment," Varus snapped, apparently having arrived at the end of his patience, not that there had been much of it in first place.

Argis sighed and tried the reasonable approach because he didn't think wringing the other man's neck was going to win him any favours. Not with said man. With everybody else it was a fifty-fifty chance whether they would rejoice at the brutal murder of their boss or lament the loss of their work. "Isn't this guy paying you a fortune to keep his hide intact?"

"That is not the point– "

"I want my team back."

"You can get your _job_ back and be grateful," Varus barked.

It was then that Argis wondered, not for the first time, how much work it would be to open an agency of his own. He was tired of dealing with people like that pesky Imperial.

"Fine," he agreed, because he had no other option. But I'm in charge." Argis knew Yngvar and Rufus and he could beat the living daylights out them and every other security officer that worked for Varus. And they knew it too, which was why nobody had ever asked him to prove it.

Varus grudgingly accepted and Argis could breathe a little easier.

"And I want half of the pay up front."

The Imperial took a pull on his cigar, a grin forming on his face. It was not a pleasant expression. "That's not how this works." He was being obstinate. It had worked just fine before Argis' unscheduled leave.

"You can pay up or I'll ask around how much blood money there's on this poor sod's head," Argis said quietly. "Crottus, wasn't it? Patriarch of the Maro family? Would be quite the blow to your reputation if he died with your boys on watch."

Argis was first and foremost a mercenary. His allegiance was bought, not won, and he'd suffer no crisis of conscience if he had to change loyalties to keep himself above water.

Varo snarled, looking positively constipated, but he hauled his bulk up and disappeared into the back room. When he came back it was with a fat wad of cash. He tossed it to Argis, as if handing it to the Nord was beneath him. "Your shift starts on Tirdas."

Argis grinned and touched the roll of money to his temple in a parody of a salute before he pocketed it. He slapped the bobblehead Chihuahua on the head in farewell and heard Varus' curses follow him to the front door where he savoured his first lungful of fresh air. He had almost a week's worth of free time before he had to go to work and a date to get ready for in the evening. Things were finally looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I swear I'm working on HT, but I just had an idea for the plot of this story and I'm WAY too excited about it. Also, it's got Argis so I hope you'll forgive me :)


	3. Wulf

Wulf brushed the comb through his black hair one last time before he was forced to admit that is was as perfect as it was going to be. He mostly did it not because it needed more styling, but because he liked the feeling of the sharp teeth against his scalp. Sometimes he envied his cat, which was currently perched atop the bathroom's black marble countertop with her tail curled over her paws, observing her human's every move with rapt attention.

"What do you think, Toots? How do I look?" he asked her and received a questioning stare in response.

Unlike him, she preferred to judge people in silence.

Wulfryk leaned closer to the frameless, well-lit mirror that hung above the sinks to get a closer look at eyebrows. Nothing he needed to fix there, thank Dibella – not that he normally had to, apart from taking care of the odd hair that decided to grow where it shouldn't. He had showered, trimmed his beard a fraction, brushed his teeth and dressed up. The Nord was wearing a dark suit and a striped tie of midnight navy and electric blue to accentuate the colour of his eyes, one of his best features in his own, not-so-very-humble opinion.

Wulf sighed; he'd rather curl up on the couch with his laptop and a black and white flick than go out. He could microwave some popcorn and munch it by the handful, but no, he had promised to, and going back on one's word was a bad habit better left uncultivated.

Which was how he found himself browsing through bottles of cologne, discarding the first one he sniffed for being too obtrusive. The second was too fresh and the third one he only used in summer. What he wanted was a scent that was not too strong or heavy, but more subtle; just a hint of spice and smoke. Wulf picked a small opaque flagon from the back of the shelf. He reserved it for special occasions like dates or a business deal with somebody who was attracted to him when he wanted to throw them off-balance during negotiations, and applied a modest amount.

The scent was a reliable old friend that he knew made people lean just that bit closer to better catch a whiff of it. He had, shamelessly, tested its effects on his own employees.

Wulf enjoyed flirtation and the mind-game that allowed him to manipulate others, to coerce them into doing all sorts of naughty things they would never consider under normal circumstances but sometimes agreed to when he whispered dirty little nothings into their ears. He liked to show off and loved to be desired, and to let everybody around him see and long for what they couldn't have.

Maybe he'd get his designated date to suck him off. There was even a chance that she had been given strict instructions to sleep her way up, in which case the evening might not turn out to be a complete waste of time. Digging for gold was hard work – sometimes literally so – and few got far by just shaking hands.

Wulf jumped a bit when somebody knocked on his penthouse's front door as if there wasn't a perfectly usable doorbell right next to it. Security had received instructions earlier this day to not bother ringing him up when somebody came to see him, and Amren, who was probably still a little nervous after his recent, near-fatal accident with a flying printer, wouldn't risk antagonizing his boss in any way. It mattered little; Wulf was _always_ on time, and the only person he was currently displeased with was his lady mother. She had given away his home address, though he had asked her more than once not to do that. If he opened that door to find a gang of Rimmenese mercs lurking behind it, he was blaming her.

Though the thought of a hitman posing as his date did bring a small, cruel smirk to Wulf's face. He checked his reflection one last time. The man in the mirror looked ravishingly handsome, if decidedly unhappy. Wulf stuck his tongue out at him before he turned off the lights and moved to receive his guest, putting on his best fake smile as he unlocked the massive safety door.

Contrary to his expectations, it wasn't a lawyer lady from Shornhelm that stood in the corridor – and it most certainly wasn't an aspiring artist from Alinor.

The other Nord was something between two to three inches taller than Wulf, but he had the breadth of shoulders to make him appear bigger. He filled out the doorway nicely, leaning against the frame in a relaxed way.

"Yes?" Wulf asked when his visitor pushed off the wall and stepped closer, affecting boredom. "Can I help you?"

Mr. Sex on Legs pulled out a single red rose from behind his back, giving it a small twirl.

Oh. _Oh._

"Oh." Very smooth, that. Wulf could have bitten off his own tongue because he obviously wasn't making much of a first impression.

The blond cocked an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile playing around his full lips which were framed by a neat beard. "I really hope I'm at the right address, because this is starting to feel awkward."

Even his voice was nice, deep and rough, the warm timbre going straight to Wulf's groin. "Yeah." He raked his eyes over the guy, from his dark jeans to the grey turtleneck that left very little of the body it covered to the imagination, and up to his mane of dark blond hair, a few strands of which were actually braided in the traditional Nord fashion that Wulf himself did not follow.

The other man's left cheek was marred by scars too straight and regular to have been an accident, and his eye was a milky white in colour. From the way his head was tilted, Wulfryk guessed he was blind in it, but if he was at all self-conscious about his appearance, he hid it well.

Not that he had anything to be ashamed of. Wulf could not stop the grin that threatened to split his face in two, his pretence of a smile chased away by a genuine one. It was almost too good to be true. "You're not part of a Rimmenese gang hired to beat me up, are you, handsome?" he drawled. Although he could do with a little roughhousing.

The other Nord scratched the back of his neck, shifting from one foot to another. "Uh. Not that I know of." He stretched out one large hand and introduced himself. "I'm Argis."

"Wulf."

They shook, and Wulf was pleased to find the man's grip firm; strong calloused fingers curling warmly against his own. He let go first and plucked the rose from Argis' hand and disappeared inside his apartment for a second in order to use the hallway mirror to thread the flower through the left button hole of his lapel. When he came out again, Argis' eye was drawn to the token.

He looked smug.

"I parked around the corner," the blond Nord said, though he sounded a bit ill at ease with the suggestion.

"Actually, I was thinking of using one of the company cars," Wulf replied offhandedly and, after setting the alarm and locking his door, led them to the elevator. He could easily enter any part of the building, but whoever tried to get from the publically accessible to the restricted private area would find themselves face-to-muzzle with a squad of very professional securities who also happened to take their job very seriously.

"You live where you work?" Argis asked, curiously looking around.

Wulf made a small 'mm' sound and pressed the _-1_ button. It was a moderately long ride from the top floor and he was glad they did not have to spend it in uncomfortable silence. "One," he lifted a finger at that, "I like my work. And two, it saves me tons of time."

"Huh." The other Nord didn't say anything more as he was distracted when they stepped out into the garage and Wulf picked out a black Escalade SUV. It wasn't exactly subtle, albeit more so than his Mulsanne, but it certainly was practical for the jobs he occasionally did.

"Rather big for a company car, isn't it?" Argis asked, hand tracing over the car's hood.

"You can't fit the bodies into the trunk of a coupé," Wulf answered with an easy smile and pulled out his keys, pressing the unlock button.

Argis chuckled, and pulled open the passenger door. Voice dropping suggestively, he added, "Or are you trying to compensate for something?"

"Nope," Wulf shot back, his tone light, and slid into the driver's seat, buckling his belt. "Unless you mean my not-entirely-irrational fear of dying in a freak accident, crushed into bloody pulp because somebody sacrificed crumple zone for engine space... or... whatever," he muttered, his focus on reversing the car.

Argis had to slide back his seat a good bit before he was comfortable with enough space for his long legs. He shot Wulf a brief and most likely incredulous glance. "Really? Then I guess you're not a fan of motorcycles," he remarked casually.

Wulf almost let a vehement _fuck, no_ slip, before he registered his companion's carefully blank tone and changed tack. "Uh, no. What I mean is... they're fine," he stuttered lamely. "Just don't try to get me on one."

The blond Nord laughed and shook his head, before he put his chin in his fist, elbow on the armrest. He looked out of the window and watched the colourful lights of the city at night flash by.

Wulf drummed his fingers on the steering wheel uneasily. He turned up the volume on Dire Straits' _Your Latest Trick_ , and sang along with the radio, whistling to the music when there was no text to sing to. It filled the silence, and next to him he could feel Argis relaxing gradually. Halfway to their destination the other Nord even hummed along, his own fingers tapping against his thighs.

It was a good sign and there was decidedly less uneasy tension between them when Wulf pulled into the parking lot in front of the restaurant he had chosen for the night. It was classy, without being too formal and he decided to sit next to his date in the corner booth the waiter showed them to. When they sat down, his knee bumped Argis' and he let it rest there, leaning against the other man's thigh.

Argis picked up his menu, turning the pages slowly as he read, but he did not pull back.

"The steaks here are excellent," Wulf said, having already made his choice and received an acknowledging hum in response. He fished out his phone and turned it off before he put it away again. If there was an emergency, then whoever was on night shift could bloody well deal with it. Just minutes ago he would have welcomed an interruption, but that was before he had seen the gorgeous hunk he had been set up with. Wulf almost burst out in nervous laughter, but managed to turn it into a soft cough. This evening still had the potential to turn into a huge disappointment. Somehow though, he did not believe it would.

The edgy waiter came back and Wulf ordered his _Center Cut_ _Sirloin_ rare and picked the wine for them both seeing as Argis' eyes grew glassy when the waiter recited the selection. The man took their menus and breezed away, in a hurry to get their orders to the chef.

"Let me guess," Wulf began to pass the time while they waited for their meals to arrive, one finger tracing the rim of his wine glass. "You are with the army?" It seemed a fair guess, considering the blond was a Nord in the very heart of the Empire. Also, his physique did not come from pushing papers.

"I was," Argis confirmed good-naturedly. "Back in Skyrim. Got discharged."

"I'm sorry," Wulf apologized for his blunder, though he had no way of knowing the latter part.

"Don't be," Argis told him with an amused expression. "Turns out I don't take orders well."

Wulf chuckled at the statement. Yeah, he could see that.

"Anyway," Argis continued, "Some important people owed me big time by then and after pulling a few strings, I ended up in Jarl Igmund's personal guard."

Wulf whistled softly. Imperial politics were a quagmire, but as far as he knew Skyrim was rather straightforward in that regard. The High King was the leader and representative of the country, but each of the eight Jarls ruled over their holds with autonomy, swearing fealty to their king. All major decisions were made by the Moot, a meeting of all nine sovereigns. Of course there were the ties to the Elder Council, but Wulfryk had for the last decade sent his mother as his spokesperson, and so he couldn't even tell whom the congress was made up of. "What happened then?" he asked, genuinely interested.

"I left."

He had? From what Wulf knew, Argis had held one of the highest positions a civilian could rise to, without getting entangled into politics themselves. Why would he leave that behind? "Another disagreement?" he speculated.

Argis' quiet laugh still made a few heads turn. "Nothing like that," the Nord said. "I handed in my resignation after a year – on account of it being too fucking boring. You've no idea what it's like," he explained, "Nothing to do all day but watch over a guy with no life. Now I'm working freelance. Armed forces, mostly. Though I'd taken some time off recently." He did not appear to regret his decision, which, Wulf guessed, was a good thing.

Argis took a sip of his water and enquired, "What about you?"

"I studied economy and accounting here at the Academy," Wulf replied, meaning the Imperial Academy, one of the most renowned universities in Tamriel. "Took a few courses in law. Now I run the family business."

"What's that?"

"It started out as a shipping operation under my grandfather," Wulf replied truthfully. "And then it grew into the largest freight company in Cyrodiil. I won't bore you with details." He could talk about his work for hours straight, but that was when he wanted to turn somebody off. And the exciting parts? He didn't get to talk about those at all.

"Huh." Argis looked up in surprise when their course arrived before he could say anything more. "That was fast."

It was nothing short of Wulf expected, but he resisted saying so, afraid it might sound too pretentious. If there was a queue, Wulfryk Blacktyde jumped it, and when his wineglass was empty he received a refill without having to ask for it. That's just the way things were.

Wulf's steak arrived with potato slivers, cooked vegetables and a decorative salad topping and, following Argis' lead, he dug in with gusto and little care for etiquette. There ate mostly in silence, but unlike a while ago, it was a comfortable one.

"Good?" Wulf asked towards the end of their meal, waiting for the other man to finish as well.

Argis' answer was to cut off a slice of meat and to pick it up with his fingers. He dipped it into the juices that oozed slowly onto the plate and offered it to Wulf, whose only brief flash of thought was 'mouth or fingers'? He took it with his mouth, Argis' fingers brushing against his lips, a little slick with grease. Wulf ran his tongue over the rough pads, sucking to clear them off, and then gave them a playful nib before he withdrew from the brief contact.

Argis licked his finger and thumb, and then wiped them on the napkin.

Wulf remembered to chew, but only just. The meat was sweet and salty, and somewhat better done than his steak had been. Good enough, but he was glad the formal part of the date would be over soon; he really wasn't hungry anymore. Not for food.

At least the gesture settled Wulf's doubts about what the blond Nord wanted – in general terms. All that was left for him was to convince the other man he was the right partner for such an endeavour.

"Well?" Argis asked after a moment, when he observed Wulfryk's tongue caress the spot where his fingers had just been.

"I like the service," Wulf admitted with a smirk, looking into Argis' good eye. "But can we please switch to dessert now?" he suggested with a wink. "Or drinks? We could adjourn to a bar; I know a nice one." This wasn't the best place for talk and getting to know each other better.

Argis finished the last of his dinner, put down the cutlery and leaned back. "Sure."

Wulf signalled the waiter and the man almost stumbled over his own feet in his hurry to get to their table. "My treat." He snatched up the leather folder before Argis could reach for it, glanced at the check inside, and threw in a few bills. He closed it again with a soft snap and stood, the other Nord following suit. Thankfully Argis did not argue about who got to settle the bill.

They hit a club and bar Wulf and his friends were regulars at and which he liked because it didn't blast too loud music or allow smoking inside. If there was one thing he hated, it was when his tailored suits smelled like he had crawled out of an ashtray.

"The Foaming Flask," Argis read the neon blue letters and snorted. "Now I feel right at home."

"Supposedly it's been here ever since the beginning of the third era," Wulf told him with a grin and took the VIP entrance, not bothering to show his ID to the bouncer who just nodded at him and pulled the door open. "A favourite hangout of the fabled hero of Kvatch and probably Tiber Septim, before him."

"And yours, it seems," Argis added.

"Fredas night is party night," Wulf told him.

"Sorry to disrupt your routine then," Argis countered wryly and looked around the dim interior. "Looks nice," he grudgingly admitted.

"I forgive you," Wulf answered as he lead them to a large table in the back which he kept reserved, not just for himself but for all his close friends as well.

Argis sank down onto the well-cushioned bench next to Wulfryk, warmth spreading through the Nord from where their arms touched. He leaned a bit closer until Wulf could feel the air of his breath ghost over the shell of his ear. "How very kind of you. I might have to repay you by–"

"Good evening," a chipper voice drowned out whatever else Argis might have said.

Wulf suppressed a curse at the interruption, and a shiver from the other man's proximity, glad that his long sleeves hid his gooseflesh. "Hey, sweetheart." He thought he recognized the barmaid, Cinda. Or was it Sia?

She blushed cutely and pulled out a tiny notepad, leaning down. "What can I bring you, messere?"

Her nametag said her name was Ria. Well, he'd been pretty close. Wulf ordered a dark Imperial stout and caught the blissful look on Argis' face when Ria told him they had a wide selection of meads, including a fresh batch of Honningbrew.

Wulfryk hung up his jacket and loosened his tie, and then he undid a few buttons to roll up his sleeves. Screw propriety, he wanted Argis to touch him.

The Nord did, running his fingers lightly over a long scar on Wulfryk's forearm. "Knife?"

"Yes." Wulf hated it when Argis withdrew his hand again, but then the man's arm came to rest over his shoulders, warm and heavy and intimate. So he told him how he'd gotten the scar in a street fight, leaving out how he had gotten into the scrap in first place.

Ria arrived with their cold drinks a moment later, and Argis did not bother with glasses. He took a deep pull straight from the bottle and sighed. "This was a good idea."

Wulf could only agree. With the help of some alcohol to lubricate it, talk was flowing easier now. They found a common topic in the recent events in Skyrim, and Argis told Wulf of the Reach, where he had grown up. Wulfryk, in turn, had travelled to quite a lot of places and pulled out some of his best tales.

They both had a good laugh over how their date had been arranged. For the past years Wulf's mother had been bent on marrying him off to a respectable lady, so he wasn't sure if this was a spectacular coincidence or, more likely, a simple misunderstanding, but he was glad for it. Argis evidently returned the sentiment.

When their conversation ran dry – figuratively speaking, since there was plenty of actual drink involved – Wulf challenged Argis to a game of darts. They ended up teaming up against a small group of patrons and beat them handily and Wulfryk bought the losers a round of beer to cool tempers. Argis claimed he never played dart, but his throws were wickedly accurate so Wulf assumed he had either been lying, or had amazing beginner's luck.

Not that Wulf was complaining. He was having a great time. Touching was easier now that barriers were down and he enjoyed every brush of their bodies equally, regardless of whether he was giving or receiving. But then they arrived at the point where Wulfryk felt that if anything more were to happen, it would have to be now. Otherwise they'd drink too much, maybe become friends or exchange numbers, but nothing more. And he really was not a modest man; he wanted it all.

The bar was crowded enough; it was easy to let himself bump into the blond Nord. Wulf was pleased to feel his arm around his lower back, strong fingers digging into his hip. It was more than was needed to just support him, and Argis did not let go, pulling Wulf closer until he was almost flush against Argis' tall, muscular frame, hands roving over his back and sides. Wulf felt him inhale, the scrape of his beard against his neck, desire running through him like an electric current. Their chests touched and his breath hitched, heart stuttering in his chest.

Suddenly the air in the club was too close, too hot, and Wulfryk's pants had grown rather tight.

"Why don't we go back to my place?" Wulf purred into Argis' ear, reciprocating the touch, gentle at first, then firmer. "For coffee," he clarified, eyes down and faking coyness before he let himself look up into that burning amber gaze with his most winning smile. "And sex, maybe?"

"Mmm," Argis nuzzled his hair, thumbs tracing lazy circles over Wulf's abs. "Definitely sex," he rumbled. "We'll have to see about the coffee."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Skyrim has nine holds in-game. The change was deliberate. Also, Wulf has short hair and Argis doesn't have his face tattooed. So sue me :)


	4. Argis

Argis was glad that he had left his home a quarter hour early. He had not expected having to identify himself to a small private army of security officers upon entering the grounds, or to find his date in the headquarters of Aemilius Inc., a modern building with a glass facade. The lobby was large and open with a tastefully decorated reception area and comfortable looking seats. It was also eerily deserted. Argis' footsteps echoed loudly in the quiet of the empty space, the only other sound being that of water splashing in a white marble fountain which stood in the middle of the room.

The man stopped to look around, not sure what he was supposed to do now. The entrance hall was cast in harsh shadows, the only light coming from a brightly illuminated sign outside and a nightlight that burned over a large wooden desk. A glass wall had been slid in front of it to partition it off the rest of the room. There was movement behind it and Argis spun around, relaxing when it turned out to be the night clerk.

The man unlocked the door to the enclosed area and led Argis past more guards and not one, but two safety doors to an elevator in front of which he smartly turned on his heel.

"Mr. Aemilius' suite is on the top floor," the Redguard announced and withdrew.

And that was when it dawned on the Nord that he was not here to see just some employee working late.

The evening had certainly begun interestingly enough, Argis mused during his long ride up. He wondered what awaited him at the top, or rather, who would. The whole thing of being set up for this date had the distinct feeling of an elaborate practical joke his devious grandmother Maeve and her friends had come up with over tea and a game of bridge. Elderly ladies with nothing else to do all day were wicked like that.

At the very least, he'd leave with a really good tale to tell his army buddies, Argis thought as he raised his hand to knock on the only door in the corridor.

He had not expected it to be opened by a man with the face he remembered from a glossy magazine in Varus' office – the poster boy of a successful businessman; and Sybilla's one true love.

After that, he had not even dared to hope that they would get along.

But despite the differences between them they did, and now they were stumbling towards Wulf's oversized car, slightly tipsy on the drinks they had had, and very, very much turned on.

The Escalade was something. Argis was glad Wulfryk didn't get to see the piece of junk pickup he was driving - and that he didn't end up having to pay for dinner. He'd only gotten a glimpse of the bill before the other man had snatched it up, and it had been enough. Argis' tastes for a quick meal ran more towards beer and a pizza from the money-laundering, mafia-run locale at the corner of the street from his apartment, and not forty-septim glasses of wine and fancy foodstuffs that wouldn't be enough to sate him if he truly were hungry. Though if he had had a choice, Argis would rather have cooked for them; a skill that never failed to impress.

Maybe it was because his job had him spending enough time around people who had more money than sense, that Argis was not intimidated by the blatant display of wealth. Instead, he decided to enjoy it to the full.

 

Wulf's right hand was rubbing over the other Nord's thigh, travelling steadily upwards, while he steered with the other. They broke the tempo limit and ran two red lights and Argis laughed, because he wasn't the only one eager to get laid tonight.

Wulfryk only had to nod at the man in the guardhouse at the entrance to the garage and the gates opened for them. They didn't pass through the way Argis had come. Wulf swiped a card and punched in a code and before Argis could finish the thought that security in this place was tighter than a virgin's snatch, they were riding the elevator up. Wulf leaned against the mirror in the back, a feral glint in his hooded eyes as he regarded Argis with a small smirk playing around his lips.

They were barley through the door of his penthouse apartment when the blond Nord had him trapped against his chest, claiming that mouth with his own. There was no hesitancy as their lips met for the first time, no gentle easing into the kiss. Argis understood the necessity of discretion when in public, but now he had kicked the door closed behind them and pulled the other man closer by his tie, and it was time to find out what was hidden under that suit.

Wulf filled out his arms nicely and his beard scratching softly against Argis', whose breath hitched in that magical moment when their tongues touched, warm and slick and so very good.

Wulf opened up to the kiss, pressing forward eagerly, and his fingers tangled in Argis' hair as one thigh worked its way between the blond's legs. He tasted of the dark beer he'd drunk, and Argis of sweet mead, a heady and intoxicating combination neither could get enough of. They broke apart after one endless moment, quick, shallow breaths shared between open-mouthed kisses.

Then Wulfryk began to back away slowly enough that Argis could follow without breaking contact, their movements an intimate dance in which it was impossible to tell who was leading and who followed.

Argis brushed Wulfryk's suit from his shoulders, and being a considerate person, he hung it over a chair they passed.

Wulf threw his head back and laughed. He was so free with the sound; melodic and throaty, albeit somewhat breathless. And he put his heart into it, bidding you to laugh right along with him.

The corner of Argis' mouth twitched. He bet people did just that, even when the joke was at their own expense. He did not stop to contemplate the matter further, leaning in again and running his tongue over the seam of Wulf's lips, and received a sharp nip in return that made his scar tingle.

Wulf soothed the sting away, gently sucking on Argis' lower lip, while the other man tugged his shirt free of his pants and slipped his hands underneath.

He liked what he felt; hot, defined muscles, slightly damp with sweat, twitching under his touch before relaxing again, becoming soft and pliant. Argis undid the shirt's buttons from the bottom up and Wulf did the same from the top, their hands meeting halfway. Argis felt the other man's smile against his lips and he pulled away slightly to have a look, to drink in the sight of the other Nord before him.

Wulfryk certainly did not look like somebody who spent his days behind a desk. Though where he got the kind of heavy musculature that only came from hard physical workout and not careful bodybuilding, Argis did not know. The black hairs of his beard bristled pleasantly under Argis' rough fingertips when he let them travel downwards from Wulf's strong jaw, ghosting over the hollow of his throat and down the chiselled plains of his chest.

A snap and tug and Wulf's belt came undone, the Nord pushing down his pants and smalls together. He stepped out of both, already hard and smiling like the corporate shark he was, if only because Argis was panting at the sight before him. His hand lightly ran up the length of Wulfryk's cock, thumb slipping over the moisture gathering at the tip, enjoying the smooth, supple feel of skin and the unyielding heat and hardness underneath it.

Argis barely registered that they had stopped in front of a large bed, too turned on by the man before him to pay any heed to his surroundings, by the feeling and smell of warm skin and the fact that Wulf apparently only shaved his beard. He caught the scent coming from him, something musky and smoky, with a hint of spices.

Whatever it was, it was driving him crazy.

He licked at the muscles in the juncture between Wulf's neck and shoulder, a faint tang of salt spreading on his tongue. Wulf tipped his head back when Argis kissed up his neck until the other man claimed his mouth again, and they shared the taste. Unlike before, the kiss was no longer hurried and frantic, teeth clicking together as they were both overwhelmed by passion. This time there still was a hungry edge to it, but no rush. They both knew they lacked the strength to break away again.

Wulf's tie was his last article of clothing to be discarded.

The dark haired Nord sat down on the edge of the bed, comfortable in his nudity. He looked up at Argis through his lashes, one hand lightly rubbing circles over the blond man's stomach. "You've got me at a disadvantage, baby."

Argis pulled his sweater over his head. Wulf's hands were already at his belt, and a second later he could step out of his pants as they pooled around his ankles. The other man was kissing down the trail of hair on his lower stomach, and around the waistband of his smalls, before he pulled them down, mindful not to graze Argis' straining erection.

Argis brushed his fingers through his thick, silken hair murmuring his approval when Wulf's tongue dipped into the crease between his thigh and groin. He sounded hoarse when he got enough of his wits together to ask, "What do you want?"

Wulf stopped his attentions briefly to look up, his breath ghosting over Argis' sensitive manhood. His eyes were deep pools of shadow since Argis' broad frame blocked all the light from the hallway, but there was no missing the white flash of his teeth when he grinned. "Your cock."

_Fuck, yes!_

Argis moaned, one hand kneading the muscles at the nape of Wulf's neck, tugging him closer until he could feel the heat of the other man's exhale again.

"Want me to suck you off, hmm?" Wulf asked, mouthing at his base and sucking lightly. He inhaled deeply, and licked his way up with a broad sweep of his tongue that left a rapidly cooling trail of heat over the length of Argis' shaft. "Take off the edge?"

The blond Nord must have managed to say something intelligible in answer, because the next thing he was aware of was being laid down on the bed, and the warmth of Wulf's body when he crawled over him.

Wulfryk dipped his head to kiss him again, and tilted Argis' head back to let their tongues war, Wulf's pushing deeply before he sat up with one last peck. Argis watched the other man open the drawer to his nightstand whilst he licked his saliva off his lips. Wulf returned with a condom in his hand and settled between Argis' thighs, nipping at their insides. He bent one leg at the knee and lifted it over his shoulder, not wasting any time doing exactly what he had promised to.

Argis moaned when he was engulfed by heat, the pressure of Wulf's tongue against the underside of his cock, its swirl over his tip. The room's ceiling swam before his eyes and he pillowed his head on one arm, his other hand tangled in Wulf's hair, following the other man's motions rather than directing them. The Nord knew what he was doing, guided by Argis' quiet groans, the occasional soft curse and the telltale silence when he did something that stole the warrior's breath away entirely.

Argis tried to keep his hips still, to let Wulfryk choose his own pace, but the other man didn't seem to mind when he jerked with pleasure. Not even when in the end Argis' control slipped and he thrust his hips hard enough that he felt himself slip into the back of Wulf's throat.

Instead, the dark haired Nord encouraged the movement with his hands kneading Argis' ass and a moan, the feeling of which sent the blond man over the edge.

Wulf sat up on his heels to watch, his head cocked to the side, and smirked. "Good?"

Argis grunted, not yet up to form a coherent answer.

Wulf nodded in satisfaction at having reduced his lover an unintelligible mess and got up. "I think I'll have that coffee now."

Argis raised himself on his elbows at that. "What about you?"

Wulf stopped in the doorway to throw back a grin at the man in his bed. "You get hard again, darling, and we'll see what you can do to make _me_ happy," he drawled.

The blond Nord let himself fall back again. The sheets were a bit damp beneath him, but the only thing he cared about was that they weren't made of silk, a flimsy material that Argis hated the feeling of. But no, they were some kind of cotton, fuzzy and soft. They smelled of Wulf. He felt himself twitch.

He definitely would be up for another round soon.

Argis had disposed of the used condom when Wulfryk returned with a cup of coffee, and he got a good show, watching with rapt attention as the other man lazily stroked himself while he sipped the hot brew.

Wulf hadn't been teasing before, but he did now, until Argis slapped his hand away and took over, with a whispered, "Here, let me."

Wulf smiled and reclined, allowing Argis to find out what made him gasp and buck into his touch. But hands were not nearly enough, and they needed more, both men following the irresistible pull of their bodies. They ended up grinding against each with Argis on top and Wulf's legs spreading, drawing him closer with one heel hooked at the back of Argis' thigh.

Both were slick from the friction by the time Argis climbed off because Wulf nudged him towards the still open nightstand. He found condoms and a lubricant and knelt in front of the other man's sprawled form. Argis did not have to tell him to lift his hips when he rolled up a pillow to prop them up; Wulf lifted them readily enough with a small smile of his own.

Argis popped the cape of the lube and applied a liberal amount to his fingers. He braced himself on one arm over the other man, to better gauge his reaction when he slipped one inside the other Nord and began to move it gently in and out.

Wulf huffed and thumbed Argis' nipple in return, pinching the nub to hardness. His breath smelled of coffee and something that might have been cinnamon, and Argis had to taste of his mouth to confirm that it indeed was. He didn't want to draw this out longer than necessary, but he knew that the other man needed a minimum of preparation to enjoy what was to come.

Wulf was relaxed beneath him, encouraging him to push harder, to add more fingers quicker than Argis would have. He moaned hotly into his ear when Argis found the right spot to rub, and damn if that wasn't the most arousing thing the blond Nord had ever heard.

"Come on, baby."

Argis chose to listen to his words, and not the language of his body, which was clinging to him, begging him to continue.

Wulf helped slip on the condom and slick him up and pulled him down by his neck, and between kisses whispered, "Fuck me."

Argis obliged him. Wulf cried out when Argis thrust into him for the first time, his nails digging into the other man's shoulders. Argis distracted him with a languid kiss, rocking fast but shallow until Wulf wrapped his legs around his waist and jerked his hips upwards, urging Argis on, pushing against the other Nord in his desire to feel him sink deeper.

When his thrusts no longer met any resistance, when they did not elect small grunts of pain, Argis allowed himself to sink down on Wulf's chest, the slightly smaller Nord easily taking his full weight. Argis buried his face in the other man's neck, mouthing at his pulse, and rolled the tendons between his teeth, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

Every time he felt Wulf's muscles grow rigid beneath him, his back arch up and his breath begin to stutter, Argis changed the angle of his hips and the speed and depth of his thrusts. He pressed his fingers into the sensitive spots he knew worked on himself. Once he jerked Wulf's neglected cock a couple of times, then he massaged his balls, cupping them in the palm of his hand. And this time it was Wulfryk being reduced to a string of half-voiced pleas and hoarse shouts as Argis fucked him with all the skill he had.

Because Wulf liked to kiss, Argis wasn't surprised when he sucked on his tongue until the blond Nord was no longer sure where he ended and Wulfryk began, they were so entwined. He felt the other man's release almost as intensely as he had his own – the clench, the pull and wave after wave of pleasure coursing through him, followed by warm, slippery wetness. Fingers dug into his ass with bruising strength, drawing him closer, deeper.

Wulf gasped against his chest to move, to go harder as he rode out his climax, calling out in equal parts ecstasy and frustration when Argis held himself still. His thighs remained wrapped around Argis' middle for a long time, but slowly he let go and sank back into the mattress. Wulf raised his hand from his cock and licked a pearly drop of fluid from his thumb. He smiled up at the man above him, eyes half-lidded.

Argis smiled back.

Wulf made a small questioning noise when the other Nord withdrew and whined unhappily at the loss of warmth and contact – until Argis' hands were back at his hips, urging him to move.

"Turn over."

Wulf obeyed and Argis straddled his thighs. He'd gotten off once, he'd last a while longer yet. His extra height allowed him to bite Wulf's neck as he lined up and joined their bodies once more. A deep groan was torn from his chest and Wulfryk looked back over his shoulder, content to let Argis do all the work. For a while, Argis was happy to.

But eventually Wulf rolled his hips again, his hand working between his thighs, slowly at first and then faster. He purred like a giant cat and arched into the contact when the blond Nord raked his blunt nails down the broad expanse of his back with enough pressure to leave red lines.

Argis was almost buckled off when Wulf pushed up to his hands and knees, but he managed to keep a hold on the other man's hips and brace his knee on the bed. One of his hands grasped Wulfryk's shoulder for better leverage and then the room was filled with the sounds of their coupling: the wet slap of flesh and husky moans and, when Argis finally let go of the last of his inhibition, the dull thud of the headboard against the wall.

He came with his head thrown back and a guttural shout, his whole body tense until, when he had spent himself, Argis folded himself over Wulf's back.

Except for the harsh gulps for air, Wulf was conspicuously quiet beneath him, his head hanging limply between his shoulders. Argis cautiously reached down to touch his manhood to find it weeping fresh seed. It painted a wet streak across the back of his hand and he relaxed, rocking gently and trailing his mouth over the ridge of Wulf's spine. He placed soft kisses all over its length and felt the muscles flutter at the touch of his lips.

Wulf hissed softly when Argis finally pulled out, and collapsed back onto the bed. He turned over, stretched languidly and sighed. "That was fun."

"Yeah." Argis felt boneless and sated, and tired enough he could go to sleep right now.

Wulf chuckled and gracefully rolled to his feet. He came back a moment later with a warm, damp towel and, having apparently already taken care of himself, used it to clean up Argis who was happy to lie back and enjoy the ministrations.

"You won't be cold if I open the windows."

Argis wasn't entirely sure it was a question. "Takes more than what Cyrodiil has," he replied groggily.

"Oh, good." Wulf opened a large window and the sounds and smells from outside slowly filtered in, as he stood naked in the draft. "I can't sleep when it's stuffy."

Before long the air had a pleasant nip to it, enough to turn the bed from stiflingly hot to a warm, comfortable nest. Argis felt the mattress dip and bounce when Wulf crawled in, lying down next to him. There was some more movement and the other man pulled the blankets up over both of them. It was enough to answer the blond Nord's question of whether he was welcome to stay for the rest of the night.

A finger toyed with the hair on Argis' chest and he cracked open his good eye.

"What do you think about getting some tests done?" Wulfryk began hesitatingly, and looked up with hope shining in his eyes. "Don't get me wrong, it was amazing, but I'd rather taste you than latex."

What did he think? Argis wasn't sure. He'd rather talk about this in the morning, when he had a clear head and wasn't high on the feeling of having come whilst fucking the Imperial City's most gorgeous hunk through the mattress. What Wulf proposed sounded both good and an awful lot like the beginning of something Argis wasn't sure he wanted to get himself into.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm not asking for any commitment," Wulf continued, having sensed the other man's reluctance, "But I wouldn't mind more evenings like today."

No, he wouldn't either, Argis decided. The one-nighters he'd had before usually ended with him leaving after the fun was over, or pretending to be asleep and getting up before the sun. This was different. Even the aftermath wasn't awkward, though by all means it should be, considering they didn't know each other at all.

But to have somebody to hook up with for casual sex would be nice... and if he got a bad feeling, well, he could always visit the army healers. Enough of his army buddies got cheated on by their spouses when they were away on duty, for him to know that a relationship was no guarantee for safety.

So what if they moved things along a bit faster than was usual?

"Think on it," Wulf said softly. There was a moment of silence, and then, "I wouldn't say 'no' to a little post-coital cuddling."

"C'mere then." He could take a hint; the former topic closed for the time being. Wulf was too heavy for him to pull closer, but Argis found the strength to roll them both over so they were chest to chest, legs tangled. Wulf's lips brushed against his collarbone, and Argis tightened his hold on the man in his arms, burying his nose in his hair. He was still sweating slightly, but, Gods, did he smell good. Argis wanted to say something more, but the words lying on the tip of his tongue were forgotten as he drifted off, slipping into unconsciousness to the feeling of Wulf's warm breath against his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never let it be said that bluRaaven didn't deliver smutty goodness when she has promised to! :) I hope I did not disappoint and that you enjoyed this chapter.


	5. Wulf

They drifted apart in their sleep when it became too hot under the covers, but at all times Wulf was aware of the man next to him, be it because of a heavy arm resting draped across his middle or due to how the mattress dipped under the other Nord's bulk.

When Toots had jumped on the bed in the middle of the night, Argis had shot upright, alert in an instant.

"I hope you're not allergic to cat hair," Wulf remembered mumbling into the pillow. Apparently Argis wasn't and didn't mind the addition to the bed, because he had still been there when Wulf woke hours later with the sun shining in his face. Toots had stayed on Wulf's half of the bed, curled up in her spot under his chin, but when, after she had licked his nose, he didn't budge and get up to fill her bowl, she stretched, jumped off the bed, and stalked away, tail held high. Wulf tried to make out the blurry, turquoise numbers that flashed on the display of his alarm clock and rolled over with a groan when he saw it was two minutes to eight. _Just a little longer._

Half an hour of napping later Argis was stirring too, and he greeted Wulf with a happy rumble and a scratchy kiss to his shoulder blade.

Wulfryk entertained the idea of ringing up Lydia and telling her to cancel all his appointments because he was indisposed. He could even spin a tale about having been taken hostage and then spend the day in bed with the man who looked even more gorgeous standing before him in daylight than he had yesterday evening after a couple of pints; a rare occurrence, that. Wulf's eyes sought out the scars his fingers had missed and finally settled on a dusting of freckles on the top of Argis' burly shoulders.

It was just a fantasy, but he clung to it as he busied himself with making breakfast while Argis showered and dressed. They ate together, talking about their plans for the week and other inconsequential matters, but it wasn't until the blond Nord was standing in the hallway with his jacket slung over his arm that Wulf touched on what was foremost on his mind.

When Wulf initiated the kiss, Argis returned it, and not just with a peck on the cheek. Wulf stepped closer, one arm sneaking around the other man's neck, the other down his back so he could knead his ass. It went on longer than any other goodbye kiss he had ever had, and when it grew heated, when Argis' tongue brushed his own, Wulf growled. "I'm dragging you back to bed if you don't leave."

Argis chuckled, but withdrew, and Wulf regretted having said anything. He handed the Nord a business card with his private number written on it, whispering, "Call me," into the other man's ear.

Argis pocketed the slip of paper, but did not make any promises that he would keep in touch. If he didn't want this to become more than a one-time hook up, Wulf wasn't going to press the matter. Though he hoped the Nord would call. He hadn't just come twice in one night, but twice in a round. This was insanely good sex. And Argis hadn't exactly run out of his apartment this morning, staying for breakfast and lingering until, when the door closed behind him at last, Wulfryk's shoulders slumped a little.

He took his sweet time getting ready for work. It was one of the best things about being one's own boss; that he didn't have a schedule other than the one he set for himself, with nobody to berate him if he came in late. Wulf could feel the bruise on his neck, hidden by the collar of his shirt and a lingering soreness after yesterday's activities. If nothing else, he'd have some amazing memories to jack off to.

The smile stayed on his face right up until he walked into his office where his secretary waited for him with a jug full of freshly pressed juice.

"Morning, Lydders."

Lydia shuddered theatrically at today's nickname and leaned on Wulf's desk. "Somebody's in a good mood," she sang out in greeting and poured him a glass of juice. "How was the date?"

"Good," Wulf replied and took a pull from his pink straw. Oranges, carrots, apple and ginger. He sighed happily and cast her an innocent look over the rim of the glass. After a moment he put it down and began to leaf through the folders on his desk while she fidgeted.

"Oh, come on," Lydia complained, draping herself over his table and the documents on top of it, her chin in her hands. Wulf was briefly distracted by her cleavage, but managed to tear his eyes away when she said, "I want details."

So he told her, everything from how Argis had picked him up, to their evening at the bar. He was building up the mood for the best part when _that_ phone on his desk began to ring softly, a green light blinking insistently. Wulf broke off mid-sentence.

He did not have to tell Lydia what to do; she was already on it.

Wulfryk took a deep breath and let it out again, and a second later he picked up the receiver. "Blacktyde Enterprises."

He was met with a crackling silence from the other end of the line, and then the person on the other side hesitatingly asked, "Mr. Blacktyde?"

"Yes."

The man wasn't using a device to alter his voice like Wulf did, but it sounded as if he were speaking through a rag to muffle it, make it indistinguishable.

"I– I have a contract."

Most people who dialled that particular number were nervous at best. It was Wulfryk's job to talk them through it, and he was good at it. In return, he received a name he jotted down on the top of a wad of sticky notes. Lydia cast a look at it and disappeared from his office, carefully closing the door behind her.

He knew the person, a devoted investor in the Aemilius family business and an influential politician with a seat on the Elder Council. Moderately high up the social ladder, mostly because of his position as the patriarch of one of the eldest families in the city, but hardly the biggest fish in the sea, and a fairly easy catch.

"Two million," Wulf decided. When his soon-to-be client felt emboldened enough to attempt to strike a deal, he cut him short. "No. Pay up front or forget it."

A brief pause followed and then the caller gave in. Wulf gave him the date of the transaction and the name of the street and warehouse where he was to leave the money.

"When can I expect... Ah... ?"

"Before the month is over," Wulf said and, when the line remained quiet for a moment, hung up.

That would leave them with two weeks to operate after one of his people picked up the money. He wouldn't be going in person, of course. Neither would be the caller if they had any brains. The location was owned by an alias and the chances of it being traced back to the Aemilia family were minimal. Wulf had a whole agenda; an entire conglomerate of foreign corporations that existed in the virtual reality and in deed only. They had homepages with pictures of nonexistent employees, e-mail addresses that were answered and numbers that redirected incoming calls to where they would actually be picked up. Only if somebody ever decided to visit the locations they would find themselves standing in the middle of nowhere with no actual building in sight. And should that exceptional case ever occur, he had a plausible explanation at hand. Wulf had been careful in building the illusion that was his empire.

The impending meeting could always be allotted to business of the auspicious kind. He'd just transfer some money, book it right and label it nicely. Making money disappear was easy as pie when one also owned a financial institution and had the right connections.

"Did you get them?" Wulf asked when Lydia came back, balancing a staple of colourful book folders in her arms. She put them down on his desk with a groan and stood behind him to peek over his shoulder. She had an incredible memory when it came to people, an asset he had found invaluable on more than one occasion. She was also a terrible gossip. If there was a rumour, Lydia could sniff it out. Wulf had never for one heartbeat regretted bringing her into the business.

"All files are in here," she said, tapping one painted nail on the cover of the topmost folder.

Wulf glanced at the stickers at their backs to find them labelled with his client's name and arranged chronologically; neat and orderly, and just the way he liked it. Somebody wanted the guy dead and he had better find out about his mark what he could. He didn't have to search for long before he stumbled over some interesting information.

"He's been selling his shares?" Wulf clicked his tongue in surprise. " _Tsk._ I'm heartbroken."

"Looks like he's about to bolt," Lydia agreed, peeking at the numbers.

"Let's call a meeting, shall we?" Wulf swiped his finger to log on to his laptop and typed in the name. He punched the number that popped up into his phone and held it in place between his shoulder and ear. After a few rings, he heard his call being picked up, a faint 'Yes?' amidst a steady background noise of what sounded like traffic.

Lydia had poured herself a glass of juice and leaned on Wulf's desk with her arms crossed. He wondered what she'd make out of the conversation, one-sided as it was for her.

"Mr. Maro," Wulf introduced himself, "Wulfryk Aemilius speaking. I hope I did not catch you at an inopportune time." Crottus assured him that no, he had not, and Wulf smiled, satisfied. He had the vague feeling that the Imperial would have said the same if he were currently sitting on the privy. One didn't just turn down a call from his not-overly-humble self. "Very well."

They exchanged a few meaningless pleasantries, a necessary decorum, before Wulf could talk business. "I have noted that there has been an anomaly in stake transitions over the last week... on top of a withdrawal of a substantial sum." He turned a few pages in front of him and listened to Maro's apologies as he tried to explain himself. "M-hmm. Yes. Of course I understand. But in regard to that let me make you a special offer. For long-term patrons only," Wulf added, and then, "Why don't we discuss the matter over lunch?" he proposed cheerfully, sweetening the pot a bit more. "Have you ever been to Ley Marillin's?"

Wulf shoot a meaningful look at Lydia when Maro hesitated, and she raised one eyebrow in return, quietly sipping her drink. Wulf had not known the man to ever turn down a free meal. That he did not want to go out was a sure sign he knew or suspected that somebody was out for him. Wulf briefly wondered what the man might have done, but he really didn't care all that much.

"I'm sure they have catering," Wulf insisted until the Imperial finally gave in. "Yes. You know I have the best security. Yes, of course. It would be a pleasure. Good day to you too, Mr. Maro." Wulf disconnected and turned around in his seat.

"He's coming. Lydia- ?"

"I'm on it," she replied to the question he did not finish.

Wulf nodded and she left to arrange their lunch. Reception called roughly an hour later that Maro had arrived. Wulf sent Lydia to greet and escort the Imperial to his office while he straightened his tie and made sure his suit was spotless.

Crottus Maro was accompanied by two men with 'Varo Security' labels stitched on their upper arms. He dismissed them both with a curt, "Please, leave us."

The hired muscle took up their positions in front of his office and Wulf stepped forward to shake the other man's hand. Maro was a short, stout man who, despite his balding head, bore his age rather well.

"Thank you for coming," Wulf greeted his guest and offered him a seat at a large table that he had cleared of papers and stray office supplies earlier. He poured them both a glass of water and they made some more small talk while waiting for their meal to arrive.

"I could call my security company," Wulf threw in when he had managed to steer their conversation towards Maro's troubles. "They are the best."

"Ah," Maro said, wringing his hands, "That is very considerate of you. But I have made all arrangements... "

Wulf smiled blankly and nodded. "As you wish." He could easily pass the comment off as a careless blunder and seeing as it was obviously a sore topic for the Imperial, how it made him defensive and wary, he added, "I'm dreadfully sorry. It wasn't my intention to pry."

He reverted back to the safer waters of how Crottus wanted to transfer all his shares to his younger son. Wulf was happy to propose him a deal the man would never live to sign and sketched out all the details until Lydia came in with a trolley and what smelled like delicious food, and the negotiations were put on hold.

Wulf agreed to send a first draft of a contract to Maro's lawyers this very week and they parted on favourable terms.

"As always, it's been a pleasure doing business with you," Wulf said suavely. "Will I be seeing you at the Evonslate Ball?"

Maro pulled a face, but quickly reverted to his pleasant self. "It would probably be for the best if I avoided public attention for a while," he declined politely, if indecisively. "Although, it _is_ a very prestigious occasion. It would be a shame if the Imperial City's eldest family wasn't represented." He sighed. "Ah, maybe this... misunderstanding... will be cleared up by then."

"Of course," Wulf replied neutrally. "Have a nice day, Mr. Maro." They shook hands and the Imperial left with his escort.

Lydia returned. Sometimes Wulf's office was as busy as the central train station. He was glad when he could lean back in his comfortable chair and let Lydia press a glass of scotch into his hand.

"What did you find out?" Wulf asked, swirling his drink around until the ice cubes clicked against the glass. He took a sip and sighed happily, and loaded the leftover food onto his plate, digging in before it had a chance to get cold.

"Varo PS," Lydia immediately replied. "A minor security business.  Small, but reputable. Ex-Legion, most of them. Maro must be afraid somebody will sell him out," she said with a nod towards the doorway.

"For two million fucking septims?" Wulf asked through a mouthful of the last of his tortellini in cream sauce. "I'd sell out my mother for half of that." The smile he shot Lydia was borderline cruel, but it was gone by the time he wiped his mouth on a napkin and tossed it down on his plate. "What's next?"

"Savlian Caius called," she said. "He said he wanted to meet you and take up negotiations."

"Huh." Every now and then something actually managed to surprise Wulfryk. "I thought he didn't want to sell. I remember him saying something about my dead body– ?"

"Well, he does now, and _don't gloat_ ," Lydia counselled sternly. "He lost his only son when the dragons attacked Whiterun."

"So he's afraid that without an heir he'll lose his lifelong work as well?" Wulf asked seriously. He could play nice. If he had to.

He had recently branched out into security systems. The digital kind, not home security, though if he could find a way to install a predetermined breaking point... Wulf shook his head. He wasn't there, yet. Caius was a developer who had turned down his offer to buy his system rather rudely the last time they had talked. And he wanted that deal badly; the possibilities of what he could do with it in his possession were endless.

The death of his child had changed the man who entered his office this afternoon, however. He appeared aged by years and grief had etched deep lines into his face. Wulf couldn't even enjoy the victory when Caius only nodded disinterestedly when he suggested that their legal department would write up a contract for him to sign. He wanted his legacy to live on, and his work was all that he had left. Wulf was sympathetic and understanding, and on his best behaviour. He could feel distaste rolling off the Imperial, but also defeat.

"It will take some time," Savlian said, speaking of data transfer and initiating the tech staff in a monotone that almost put Wulf to sleep. "But it should all be done by Tirdas."

 

Tirdas arrived ere Wulf knew what had happened to the rest of the week. Time flew when he was having a good time and Wulf had not lied when he had said that he loved his work. That he was richer by two million septims was a nice bonus. Jen and Vilkas had picked up the money. Still, the one thing that put a damper on Wulf's spirits was that he had heard no word from Argis. He had developed an annoying habit of checking his phone more often than he had ever used to in the hope that the Nord had left him some message. Lydia had noticed, but wisely she did not comment.

She had, instead, brought him good news that they had been able to obtain some information about the private security firm Maro had hired. Wulf had called for a meeting with some of his more trustworthy employees in one of the firm's conference rooms that night. They needed to discuss the tactics of the upcoming job. The twins were there, empty boxes piling around Farkas' chair as he shovelled the Akaviri takeout Wulf had ordered into his mouth without restraint. Lydia's fingers were racing over the keyboard of her laptop faster than Wulf's eyes could follow – he half expected to see them go up in smoke – and Jenassa was playing with her chopsticks, poking listlessly at the food. Uthgerd was whispering with Njada and Torvar looked to be asleep. From what Wulf knew they hadn't been friends, the former Companions and the redhaired mercenary, but something had changed after the fall of Whiterun. Maybe it was because they had all witnessed their home destroyed, or because they were all outsiders here in Cyrodiil and had to stick together.

"Varo has eight people on duty, twenty-four hour surveillance," Vilkas read out loud, claiming everyone's attention. He held up a folder, grey eyes glued to its contents. "We have their names right here, but we couldn't get their schedules or movements."

"Smart man," Farkas mumbled around a mouthful of Udong noodles.

"It's just common sense, Icebrain," Njada retorted with a roll of her eyes.

She yelped when a rolled up ball of cardboard, still dripping grease, bounced off her temple.

"Watch it, whelp!"

"I still don't understand," the Nord grumbled whilst wiping her forehead with her sleeve. "Vignar had me revise that stupid contract three times already.  I've been working on nothing else for the past days! Why bother with all the pretense and make up a deal if we never intend to go through with it anyway?" she whined. 

"Because," Wulf explained with a twinge born of frustration at her short-sightedness, "Should the company become a suspect of being involved in the killing - wich I very much doubt will _ever_ happen – then nobody will truly believe that we crippled our own business by killing off an important client right before sealing a lucrative deal. From the investigators' point of view, it just doesn't make any sense. Plus", he stated, "Contrary to your belief, we're not wasting our time here. Maro's interests will pass on to his son, who's a good, obedient boy who stands to inherit all the family fortune.  I'd save those documents if I were you, or you're going to be working on them again, soon. Besides, if somebody wants him dead this badly, then they will find a way to make it happen sooner or later. Which means we might as well make the best of it."

Wulf jerked when his phone vibrated loudly, interrupting his speech and skidding over the glass surface of the small conference table with a clatter. An unknown number flashed on the display. Wulf frowned. He didn't give away his private number and it wasn't one you could find in the phone books, whether the virtual kind or in paper. Wulf lifted a finger to tell the others to hold on and swiped the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hey."

Oh, sweet Dibella, he knew that voice.

"It's Argis."

Wulf made a shooing motion and everybody filed out of the room. He leaned back in the swivel chair, put up his feet, crossed at the ankle, and grinned at the white wall like an idiot. "Nice of you to remember me, handsome."

There was the sound of Argis clearing his throat. "I would have called earlier, but it's been a busy week."

Wulf understood, having had quite a few of those himself. He let his voice drop into a seductive drawl and asked, "Want me to help you relax?

The next words were muttered and obviously not meant for his ears, but he heard them anyway. "Wulf, you bastard, if you gave me the number of a sex hotline, I swear... "

Wulf burst out laughing. "No, it's me," he replied in his normal voice. "How about... tonight?" He winced immediately. _Ugh, that sounded desperate._

"Can't. I'm working."

"Damn. Alright, let me check my calendar. Uh- Middas?"

"No," Argis said. "I've got a... night-shift."

"Wha-"

There was a triumphant shout from outside and then Lydia burst into the room, and Wulf lost his trail of thought. "Hold on for a moment, yes?" Wulf didn't wait for Argis' answer, but covered the speaker with his hand.

Lydia was excited enough to ignore her boss's glower. "We've got his movement." She was bouncing on the balls of her feet and Wulf didn't have to ask whom she meant. "Maro is coming to the Evonslate, _but_ he is also listed as one of the chief benefactors and the main spokesperson in favour of the adherence to the Whitegold Concordat that will be debated on the upcoming congress." She sounded like she was reciting an article from Wikipedia. Which might be exactly what she was doing.

"Thurdas," Lydia mouthed and, "I'll tell the others," and then she withdrew as suddenly as she had appeared.

Wulf nodded and jotted down the day, then turned his attention back to Argis. "Sorry. Erm... how's Fredas?"

"Yeah. Sounds good. I might be a bit tired though. I work the night through Thurdas."

"That's alright." It looked like Wulf would be working too. "I'd still like to see you. Don't work yourself into the ground."

"Right." Argis chuckled, "Bye, Wulf."

"Goodbye."

Wulf didn't stir for one moment, just clutched his phone to his chest. His heart was beating faster than a simple phone call warranted, but talking to Argis made him happy, roused that fluttering sensation in his stomach that he hardly ever experienced anymore. He wanted to see the other man again, more than he'd admit to, even to himself. Wulf firmly believed himself to be beyond the stage in life where he would develop a hopeless crush on anybody just because of one amazing night they'd spent together, but... this time, and with Argis, the chemistry was just right.  He had felt the mutual attraction from the first time he had laid eyes on the blond Nord. The end of the week could not come soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to say that Wulf orders Chinese takeout, but there's no China in Tamriel. So, Akavir will have to do.


	6. Argis

Tirdas was bad. Middas was even worse and by Thurdas Argis was ready to fall on his knees and thank all the Divines that the week was almost over. He only had to survive this night and then he could crash at home for a few hours until evening. Afterwards he'd meet Wulf and they'd have some mind-blowing sex. The very thought was enough to put a smile on his face.

'Just one more shift to pull,' Argis reminded himself, and scanned the room for any possible threats. As far as he could see the three greatest dangers were dying of boredom, closely followed by drowning in the crystal punch bowl, and suffering a gruesome, if probably quick death should one of those huge brass chandeliers overhead come loose and strike the unfortunate person standing underneath it. Argis chanced a quick look upwards to assure himself that he was clear of potential falling decorations and shifted his weight from his toes to his heels and back again.

Over the pianist's music he could hear his co-workers chat away via the headset in his right ear. The soft lisp he could make out belonged to Vorstag, an alright guy in Argis' book. He heard Yngvar curse and Rufus reply. Argis had not exchanged more than a few dozen words with the Imperial, but he knew two things about Yngvar: that he was a douchebag and that he supposedly had once pursued a singing career. Why Argis wasn't sure, when his voice made everybody who heard it wish physical harm upon the Nord.

Argis listened in on his comrades' conversation for a while, but tuned out again when the talk turned into a competition of complaining about their girlfriend problems.

Once his head had shot around when he had caught sight of a tall figure with a dark suit and black hair out of the corner of his eyes, but the man had disappeared back into the masses before he got a second look. He tried to spot him again, but there had to be hundreds of people gathered here, everybody who was rich and had nothing better to do but to compare evening attires and diss their peers over hors d'oeuvres and champagne.

Argis hated covering social events. Walking the streets, planning routes and assessing threats? Easy as pie. Actual field work? He was good at that. He liked a fight as much as any Nord; crack a few skulls and his day was made. Anybody who swung a knife at his client would, within the few next and last minutes of their lives, wish they could disappear back into their mother's wombs.

Even if an attacker miraculously managed to get their hands on a gun – those things were expensive as hell and darned hard to get by without a special authorization from the government; a decree issued not to protect the citizens of the Empire, but because the raw materials were rumoured to have grown scarce since the Great War – he had years of military training and active combat experience and was confident he could take them down.

Argis had his own way of getting firearms – his army buddies were sitting on a clandestine arsenal big enough they could run a black market all by themselves – but he preferred his trusted sword over any modern weaponry. There was a beautiful simplicity to cleaving your enemies apart, close enough to watch the life leave their eyes. The seax the blond Nord carried slung over his shoulder had been a gift from the Jarl of Windhelm for services well rendered. Ulfric had had his best smith forge it and though it had been years he and Argis had seen each other, they remained on good terms.

With the sword, a throwing axe at his hip, his old helmet from his days in the Legion, and a shield and thin, well-fitted plate armour forged from ebony ore – a metal so black it did not even reflect the light, the Nord stood out.

To say that Maro had been shocked to see his guard in combat gear was like saying Argis had been a tad miffed when he replied,

"You don't tell me how to dress. My job is to make sure your guts stay right where they are– in your fat, sweating belly. Don't make me fucking hate you."

Argis failed to be appropriately intimidated by dragons, being shot and slashed at, the general massacre that was war, or the crazy radicals that wanted autonomy for the Reach; he sure as hell wasn't going to make an exception for a name.

In retribution for the affront he had gotten the most boring spot to guard, which, secretly, suited him just fine.

Argis suppressed a yawn and was glad to notice that slowly the ball was winding down, that the dancing floor emptied and the queue to the bar consisted of only three elderly women who stayed upright solely because propping each other up they formed an almost perfect triangular pyramid.

It was time for him to find Crottus. The Imperial was a combination of the two worst possible employers: the nervous wreck and the bossy fault-finder. If he wasn't constantly asking Argis whether they had taken all precautions, he was trying to tell him how to do his work. It wouldn't be so bad, if his directions did not change every two minutes, or were frequently contradictory to each other.

Argis only had to endure one more drive, and then he could unload Maro at his conference, where one of his colleagues would take his place. He felt another yawn coming over him. Shit. He needed a coffee. Argis approached the bar and ordered a triple dose of caffeine. The bartender looked at him funny but obliged and conjured up the desired pick-me-up. The price of the drink was exorbitant, and after a taste Argis thought ruefully that he'd had better at Wulfryk's place, but he sipped the hot brew without complaining.

He found two of his co-workers, Daruis and Vorstag, standing guard next to the grand staircase, heads bent together.

"I think we're almost done here," Argis said once he was close enough that he did not have to raise his voice and the two men nodded. "Daruis."

"Yes?"

"Find Mr. Maro and the others. Vorstag and I will get the cars." The other guard left and Argis led the way to the garage. Even with the smell of exhaust fumes and motor oil hanging in the air it was better than the air inside, where too many bodies were crammed together in a too small space.

They had arrived at the ball early enough to have gotten two of the few spaces, the greater part of the guests had to park outside. The garage was clear and Argis told the others so, tossing the keys to the brunet.

Vorstag caught them one-handed and grinned; he too seemed to be looking forward to the end of this day's work. He took the driver's seat, sighed at being able to sink into the comfortable seat and turned the key. The car purred into life, but almost in the same instant there was a loud crunching noise and the engine died.

"Uh... that didn't sound right," Vorstag said with a sideways glance at Argis.

The warrior got out of the car with a groan, the other man following. He pulled up the hood and nodded gratefully when his friend had the presence of mind to turn on his flashlight.

"V-Belt's gone," Argis muttered after spotting the source of the breakdown.

"Think it's been tinkered with?" Vorstag whispered quietly.

Argis shrugged and closed the hood again. "It's an old car," was all he said. Of course he couldn't completely rule out sabotage, but from what he'd seen of the frayed edges, the failure looked like a mere accident. Maro had to insist on pomp and now they were stuck here. Just his thrice-damned luck.

"What do we do now?"

"You will take the remaining car and get backup," Argis decided and ran a hand over his eyes, "And I'll-" He broke off at the sound of footsteps. Speaking of the devil. "Mr Maro."

"Is there a problem?" the Imperial wanted to know, seeing that they were not yet ready to go.

"We are short one car," Argis replied. "We're dealing with it."

"What are you going to do?" Crottus was already wringing his stubby hands and by now Argis had learned that this was never a good sign.

"We will go upstairs again and wait," the warrior decided.

"But they're closing!"

Of course, first and foremost, there was Maro's _reputation_ to consider. "I'm sure they'll make an exception for an important person such as yourself," Argis forced through clenched teeth though the Imperial had already turned away from him.

"How much time is this going to cost us?"

Darius fidgeted under Crottus' gaze. "Almost everybody else has either left or is doing so now. The streets and the highway will be choked up for at least an hour."

'If we're lucky,' Argis thought darkly. This incident had cost them some precious time. They had meant to get a head-start before everybody else filed out of the ballroom, which was happening at the present. Now they could choose between being stuck in traffic or waiting for another car.

"I am to dine with the Madame Ambassador of the Summerset Isles!" Maro's voice was rising into a pitched squeak. "I cannot delay. How would that make me look?"

"Or we could circle around through the suburbs," Rufus suggested hesitantly.

Argis shook his head. As much as he wanted to go home, he was going to stick to the strategy they had worked out. "That is not the planned route."

"This meeting is of utmost importance!" Crottus began to babble about political landscapes and change, not being ordered about by the people in his service, withholding their payment and firing their leader, and concluded his little tirade with, "I have to be there. _On time_."

Argis took a deep breath to keep himself from doing something foolish, like throttling the Imperial and sparing any potential assassins all the bother, and pushed his finger his finger into Vorstag's face, close enough that the poor man went cross-eyed for a second. "You call backup and follow us when you can."

"Aye."

Thank Akatosh for Nords. They knew how to take orders without arguing. Vorstag left and Argis had a few seconds' worth of time to miss his old job. He wished he could go back, but the very thought was enough for him break out in a cold sweat. He couldn't do it; not yet. Maybe not ever.

There wasn't anything visibly wrong with the other car and though Argis was no mechanic, had spent enough time fixing his truck to know what to look out for. Yngvar then took the wheel and he even managed to drive like a gaping dickhole. He'd apparently never learned what a blinker was there for. At least the Nord was forced to keep to the speed limit by the many tight turns they took.

Soon they left the rich district district behind them, warm lights giving away to darkness, mansions to warehouses and the extensive gardens and parks to graffiti-sprayed concrete. They passed from the Arboretum to the Old Waterfront, over the Rumare channels to the New Waterfront and past loading docks and abandoned factories. One such seemed to house a party, blasting loud music, and a deep bass that Argis could feel thud in his chest though he was inside the car.

He could not tell what exactly sparked the unease, but he had long ago learned to trust his instincts. "Turn around." When he did not receive a reply, and the other Nord only took a right turn where a drunken reveller was taking a piss against the facade of some rundown building, Argis repeated more forcefully, "Yngvar. Turn around."

"What're you shitting your pants about now?"

"Turn the fucking car – !"

Argis never got to finish the sentence over the sound of glass shattering. Amidst sharper pinpricks, something hot splattered against his face. He instinctively raised his shield and felt something slam into it hard, and then the car swerved and scraped along a wall, sparks flying. A flash of grey, an ear-shattering metallic clatter and then a chorus of shouts from behind. Argis felt himself fall into the seatbelt and a moment later they skidded to a standstill from the collision.

Maro was screaming.

His hands shaking from the shock, Argis managed to undo his seatbelt and slide down, glad that the old car did not have an airbag or he'd be trapped. He did not think he was hurt, though beneath the armour his ribs and chest felt bruised. A glance to the left revealed that their driver was dead. Both of his hands were still on the steering wheel, but where Yngvar's head had been Argis he could see his spine and cerebellum. The rest of the Nord's head and face had leaked into the dead man's lap. Little bits were dribbling from Argis' face.

The blond Nord yanked on the door handle and miraculously it opened. On the far side of the street he could see the blaze of guns being fired, but the shots went wide. Both of their car's front lights had been shattered, so for a moment they had the cover of dark.

Nobody else appeared hurt, although one guard vomited when he caught sight of the corpse. Two more dragged Crottus out of the car and into a side street while another one provided cover. It was a dead end, only a few metres deep with rusty containers leaning against the back wall. Alone, Argis might have climbed one of the buildings' drain pipes and escaped over the roofs, but he doubted Maro, who by his looks eschewed physical exercise of any kind other than increasing his belly's flexibility by filling it up to the brim, would make it up a simple fire ladder.

"Which direction are they firing from?" Darius asked, eyes so wide that the whites were flashing in the night.

Argis' expression grew grim. He might be half-blind, but his hearing was excellent. "Both," he replied and slapped the lower part of his bulletproof helmet down over his mouth and nose.

All eyes were on him. They might gossip about his past and scars, but right now every single man and woman was looking towards the warrior to get them out of this alive. Argis could see they were afraid. They'd been hit hard and all of the sudden, and already one of their own was down, and any moment the others could fall too.

Even if there had been the time, Argis wasn't one for encouraging speeches. "They corner us, we're dead," he told his comrades evenly. "We need to break through. I take point, Moris and- ," Argis could not remember the name of the young brunette guard, so he just said, "-You there cover our backs; Darius, Maro's yours. Single file, after me!"

A smoke grenade provided the cover they needed to move. Shield held high to protect his head and upper body, Argis took the left turn. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the others scurry after him, bent low at the middle.

There were more shots; closer this time.

Argis dropped into a crouch, pressed against the wall. His shield was the only real protection they had, and the attackers were getting closer. He could hear them call out to each other and their smoke screen was already growing thinner, blown away by the wind. "Do we have another one?" Argis asked and a moment later Daruis handed him a second can. Argis threw it as far as he could and moved forward again.

Just then there was a scream from behind.

The blond Nord didn't stop; he couldn't focus on the front and back at the same time and his objective was to get Maro out of here alive, not the other securities. Another yell, and he realized their enemy had caught up to his rearguard. Which meant he'd soon run into their friends from the other side. Argis turned to the petrified Maro to bellow at him over the music that was still playing and the noise of the battle raging around them, "Stay behind me!"

But when a hail of bullet tore up the wall behind them, spraying them with mortar, the dumb fuck turned tail and ran.

That was the exact moment Crottus Maro ceased being Argis' gods-damned problem and responsibility.

The warrior sighted the flash of a muzzle nearby and reached for the 'special equipment' at his belt. He could now hear sounds of combat coming from behind him, but he couldn't see shit. The others had fallen behind and he was alone against whoever lay in waiting up ahead. He threw the grenade, ducked into another blind side-alley and covered his head as well as he could. Those ambushing bastards would rue the day they had been born.

The explosion that followed lit up the entire street in a blinding flash of white of which Argis only saw the orange glow behind his eyelids. His head was ringing, but it was nothing compared to how everybody who had been taken by surprise had to feel.

In the aftermath it was deathly still.

Argis drew his sword and ran. He encountered the first concussed man before he had counted to four and hacked him down in passing, his seax opening him up from his collarbone to the center of his chest. The man never did as much as raise a hand to protect himself, deaf and blind from being in the centre of the flashbang. His friend, not a second further, died with half his neck severed, coating the chest piece of Argis' midnight black armour in a spray of fresh blood.

The silence shattered when the gunfire picked up again.

Ahead the Nord spotted two shapes and almost collided with a third that appeared out of nowhere right in his path. The figure fell, but managed to raise an arm and Argis threw his axe without pausing.

That left two more enemies for him to deal with. He closed in before they could fire at him, pleased to notice they were standing too close to each other for their guns to be of any more use. Both Nords dropped their firearms and drew the swords they were carrying. Up close Argis could see they were both big bastards. It was their bad luck they also happened to be in his way.

He almost knocked down one of them when he crashed into the man at a full run. The Nord staggered from the blow of the shield to his chest, but the other one was already swinging at Argis and he had to dance out of the sword's path. He found himself – déjà vu – face to face with who had to be the brother. Who also happened to wield a pretty big sword. Argis knocked it aside with his shield on the next swing and went after the injured warrior again.

The man moved sluggishly, holding his ribs through his combat vest. He managed to pull away from Argis' kick, which spared him a shattered leg. His counterattack didn't only come slowly, it barely had any force behind it.

Argis had no trouble catching it - and then the guy's sword arm, careful to always keep one of the men between the other and himself. An upward blow dislocated the Nord's shoulder, and then Argis ducked away again, spinning to escape the second warrior. He ended up behind the man he had just disarmed and smashed the pommel of his sword into the doppelgänger's temple. The warrior went down like a felled tree and Argis lost his cover, but not before he almost ran the tip of his sword through the throat of the guy already wounded by his axe.

The remaining man came after him with a bellow, furious that his friend had been hurt. The bigger guy was more of a challenge, especially since Argis didn't have the time to wear him out. He was also damned strong, and Argis was forced to retreat from the series of blows that followed.  It brought him closer to the wall, which meant less manoeuvrability for him.

A second later Argis' heel hit the wall. His left arm was going numb from all the blows he had blocked, so this time he withdrew his shield at the last moment, letting the sword soar past. The other man looked surprised for a split second, and then the blond warrior trapped his sword, kicking the man off the other end of it. Both blades fell to the ground with a clatter, but before his opponent could pull a knife, Argis used the wall to kick off and jump at the Nord. His shield descended and with the advantage of height and momentum, Argis broke through his adversary's last desperate block easily. The guy went down with a scream of pain and the satisfying snap of bones breaking.

Meanwhile, the first Nord was crawling for his gun, and Argis grabbed his sword and jumped over the limp form of the warrior he had just brought down and kicked him in the head. Because he did not check his stride the blow was only a glance, but still enough to put him out cold for a while.

He wasn't fighting for Maro anymore, or for his colleagues, most of whom he believed were dead by now, but to survive. There were too many enemies for him to take down on his own; he needed to get away. Argis spared the fraction of a second to bemoan the loss of his throwing axe and continued running. He could barely make out where he was going, but this cursed street had to end at some point – and then suddenly the smoke was gone and he could see again. The dumpsters to his left might provide some cover if he needed it, and the orange, flickering light of a broken streetlamp was enough for him to see by.

The way looked clear.

Except–

There was a van ahead.

A man was leaning against the black car, his legs casually crossed. He seemed just as stunned by Argis' sudden appearance, as the blond Nord was. They stared at each other for a heartbeat and then the guy's hand went to what Argis assumed was his shoulder holster.

He did the only thing he could: sprinted at the son of a bitch as fast as he could. Argis barrelled into his adversary just as the man managed to pull the trigger, and the shot went wide. They both flinched back at the boom, and the other man dropped his pistol in favour of having both his hands free to fight off Argis. The blond warrior, hopefully only temporarily deaf, gave the gun a kick and it skidded away and disappeared underneath the van.

His opponent cursed in Nordic and pulled a knife from somewhere at the small of his back.

Argis had to admit one thing: the guy had balls to face him wearing only a suit for armour, and with nothing but a knife to defend himself.

But, as the next fraction of a second taught him, the other man apparently needed nothing else. He spun around on his toes, his kick catching the shield's rim and pulling it along with the motion. In an instance, the blond warrior was opened up wide.

The other Nord darted in, around his seax, and Argis felt the knife's bite only as the sudden weakness in his arm. He renewed his grip on his sword, though his own blood made it slick and treacherous, and turned to keep his opponent in sight.

The man was darned fast and agile, and he aimed his knife at the parts of Argis' body where he wasn't wearing armour. His kicks though showy, were a weapon no less effective than any blade. They came lightning fast, and from distances Argis never believed it possible for them to connect. He learned better when, still reeling from the injury and the unexpectedly fierce retaliation from a man who by Nord standards was all but unarmed, one of them got his injured arm and sent his sword flying.

But what the other man did not expect was for Argis to recover from the blow quite as quickly. He misjudged his opponent, just as Argis had done before and with his next attack, ran himself fully into the shield. Though he bounced back from the blow with nothing more than a grunt of pain, in the next instant the blond warrior managed to get hold of the other Nord's wrist for one moment, and though he broke free almost at the same time, he lost the knife. He had also gotten too close, and with the car behind him had no way to retreat.

The fight then turned into more of a struggle then, where Argis' size and weight were an advantage, although the other guy did not go down easily, and not without scoring a couple of hits that would have put down a lesser man – or one who wasn't wearing ebony armour. But once Argis had gotten a hold of him he didn't let go, no matter how hard his opponent tried to disengage.

His shield was of no use this close, but he matched his opponent blow for blow, following him until somehow they ended up on the other side of the car and Argis, who had had quite enough of the belligerent pest by then, picked him up and smashed him against the vehicle. Once, then twice; until the man looked properly dazed.

He went down with the next strike, although bloody tenacious as the guy was, he somehow managed to hook his legs around Argis', and he too crashed to the ground. But the blonde warrior ended up on top, his knees digging into the other Nord's chest to hold him in place while his right hand was already pulling his dagger out of its sheath at his thigh. He clamped the other one down over the struggling guy's mouth to prevent him from calling for help, the tip of his blade finding his sternum.

And then every part of his body lit up in pain.

The world tilted.

Argis had been electro shocked only during training. He needed to move, but his muscles did not respond other than to twitch with cramps.

The other man was quick to reverse their positions from a heartbeat ago, though his harsh breathing was betraying how shaken up he was.

Talos' balls, this wasn't how Argis had pictured his end; in a dirty street, having his throat slit with his own weapon by some dumb shit with more luck than sense. 'His friends in Sovngarde would have a fucking hoot,' the Nord thought as his adversary pinned him down.

Later, Argis wouldn't know what hit him first – the smell, not any kind of perfume, but the other man's sweat and the faintest hint of whatever it was he used to launder his clothes in, or the sight of his face – what wasn't covered by a black mask. A week ago he had wondered if those blue eyes were contacts. But he had woken up next to Wulf and seen him rub his eyes and had known they were not.

Argis' heart was beating faster than it had when he'd been fighting and he cursed himself for feeling a surge of happiness, of all things. It was the only proof he needed, that his body recognized the man kneeling over him.

He felt the knife's edge bite into his throat, but there was also a tug on his chinstrap and then fingers lifted the visor of Argis' helmet.

"Fuck." The man sat back and leaned against his van, the knife falling from his hand. Then, seemingly on an impulse, he pulled off his mask.

The first thought that shot through Argis' head was that Wulf's hair had been just as mussed up after he'd given him head. Mostly because it had been his fingers running through it.

This couldn't be.

Wulf rubbed his fingers over his mouth, every bit as disbelieving as the blond Nord, and Argis' eye was drawn to his lips. Lips he remembered kissing, wrapping around his cock. He'd dreamt of it, not twenty minutes ago. Of running his tongue over them, of kissing Wulf breathless until they were both hard with desire and, clinging to each other, fell into that oversized bed of his.

The fantasy shattered when the heavy tread of somebody approaching made Argis' head whip around.

It alerted Wulfryk to the proximity of another person and pulled them both from their daze.

Argis swallowed, pulse racing. The footsteps came closer. He wasn't dead, but if Wulf's friends discovered him, he was sure he would be. As if to counter that thought, Wulfryk leaned a fraction closer.

"You're dead," he whispered and got up in a fluid motion, brushing gravel off his suit.

His view from behind the car and whilst lying on his back wasn't the best, but it was enough for Argis to discern what was going on. He saw Wulf round the vehicle and collect his gun. After a while there was a brief flicker of light that Argis recognized as a cigarette being lit. He saw Wulf take a long drag, tilt his head back and release the smoke towards the sky while two people dragged a terrified Maro before him and forced him to his knees.

"You!" the Imperial squeaked and Argis felt a pang of sympathy for the doomed man.

"I," Wulf agreed amiably.

"You will regret this! Boy, you have no idea whom you are –"

Wulf did not let him finish, but lifted the gun and fired two shots into Crottus' chest. The Imperial jerked and sagged together, held up by his arms like a sack of meat. Wulfryk pressed the only half-finished cigarette out against the corpse and turned back towards his car, one hand going to his suit's breast pocket. He popped two mints into his mouth, and calmly ordered his people to,

"Clean up."

It was quite unnecessary. Somebody was already running to pick up the shells from his gun, while the goons bagged Maro.

"What about the guy who attacked you?" a female voice called after the Nord.

"Jen's group got him already," Wulf replied easily and no more questions were asked.

Argis suddenly noticed that the bass was no longer playing; instead he could make out the wailing of sirens in the distance. A car engine roared a little further away. Wulf appeared around the car with the gun still in hand.

"Get in the car." He looked like Argis felt, tired and irritated as he yanked the car door open.

For a second the blond Nord considered refusing, using the dagger he had picked back up to– . To do what exactly? What good would more fighting do him anyway? Maro was dead, as was everybody else. Argis' shoulders slumped. He opened the door and sat down in the passenger seat, wincing when the seatbelt pressed into his tender shoulder.

Wulf was sitting with his forehead resting against the steering wheel. He did not look over at Argis when he asked, "I guess this isn't the right time to ask if you want to come back to my place."

"Are you shitting me?" It kind of slipped out.

For a while there was no answer. Then, "Where can I drop you off?"

"Talos Plaza."

Wulf nodded and started the car, though he did not turn on its headlights until they were a good distance away from the ambush site.

With the additional light Argis could see that he was bleeding over the leather upholstery. He had quite forgotten that he had been wounded. The thought held no fear, just a weary acknowledgement. He'd been shot, stabbed, set on fire and worse, more times than he could count.

Wulf must have seen him shudder, because he turned the temperature up; a disconcertingly thoughtful gesture.

The warm air and the exhaustion from fighting for his life on top of a long day of work and an injury made Argis sleepy. He slumped against the car's door, keeping his eye trained on the man driving the car.

Wulf wasn't singing along to the radio this time, a small favour. He pulled into an empty space when they reached their destination and killed the engine. "You might want to lay low for a while," Wulfryk advised while Argis got out of the car.

He wished he did not glance back and see the desolate, lost look on Wulf's face before the other Nord looked up to meet his eyes, but he did. "Argis."

Argis forcefully slammed the car doors shut, his heart hammering away in his chest. There was always a crowd here, and he doubted Wulf or his thugs would try anything with so many people around. He pulled out his phone to find it smashed and useless, but he always had his trusty PMR with him.

"You guys there? It's Sunshine. I need backup." He repeated the call, before he heard it being picked up.

"Argis! Whaddya need?" Lars' voice cracked in the receiver a moment later, before he shouted at somebody else in the room, "Ey, shutup back there, will ya?"

"I need cover," Argis replied, looking around the crowded plaza. Nobody appeared to be following him. "Listen. I'm taking the underground from Talos Central, direction Temple Gardens. Can you meet me there?"

"Temple Gardens. Aye. We'll be there in twenty."

Lars must have passed his radio on, because it was Rolf who spoke to him next. "Alright. Keep talking to me, Sunshine."

The people on the subway gave Argis a wide berth as he was dishevelled, and covered in blood with the smell of the smoke clinging to him. When the doors opened on the last station, however, there was a small crowd that welcomed him in their midst.

"Sigrid's tail-spotting," Thurek told Argis and fell into step beside him.

"What happened?" Rolf asked though judging by his tone he already knew the answer. "Aren't you working for that Maro guy?"

"Yeah, he's dead," Argis replied tersely with a look behind him. He didn't catch sight of Sigrid, though he guessed that was a good sign.

"Shit!" his friends cursed simultaneously.

"Wha'appened?"

"Mob hit." It was only now that the realization began to sink in. The ambush, Maro's execution, the fact that he was the only one of the guards to walk away alive. Because apparently he had fucked the boss senseless last week. Somebody might have questions about that later, when the Imperial's disappearance was investigated. He was floating neck-deep in a river of shit where the current was doing its darnest to pull him under. There also happened not to be a life-saver in sight.  Gods, was he tired.

"Ya need a place ta crash?" Lars offered without hesitation.

Argis nodded. The knot of tension in his chest began to unravel slowly. He was with people he'd entrust his life to anytime, who were more than capable themselves. He knew that he could just focus on staying upright and they'd do the rest. It wouldn't be the first time for him to sleep on Lars' couch.

He had planned to spend the evening screwing his brains out with the handsome and charming entrepreneur Wulfryk Aemilius whose greatest faults up to this point had been that he was in love with scandal and let his pet kitten sleep in the bed. Who, as it turned out, was a fucking crook. And not that he'd counterfeit money or evade taxes, something Argis frankly expected any person of his standing was involved in, but he had to kill people on contract, mafia style.

But that was _just_ Argis' luck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as far as I had this story planned out, so updates will probably slow down now.


	7. Wulf

Muted light filtered through the white curtains of Wulf's office windows. The Nord was sitting motionlessly, transfixed by the sight of a speck of dust dancing to the tunes of Giraud's Fifth Symphony, the one also called 'In Memoriam Camlorn'. He did so until his eyes teared up and he had to blink and press the heels of his hands into them to ease the ache.

Wulf sighed and took one last look at the sheet of financial ratios before him and then promptly crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it in the direction of his already overflowing wastepaper basket. It smacked into the wall and landed on the floor with a dry rustle, and Wulf shot it a dark glare. He had stopped bothering with cursing after his fourteenth miss. The financial analyst was coming next week to write a report and he had to make his company look as good as possible.

Vignar's team was working on a plan to lower costs while he had an increase of capital to oversee that should help them break even earlier than usual. They had agreed not to issue too many shares; Wulf wanted stockbrokers to drool at the thought of getting their hands on his shares. He knew their rating would go through the roof – if only he could focus and get on with his bloody job. After all, they were going to benchmark against the best and this close to the top the competition was rather steep.

The values weren't even the actual problem. It was the loopholes the system provided him with. Technically, he wasn't supposed to exploit them. _Technically_.

But it just happened they were big enough for him to drive through a giant. One that was riding a mammoth. So, in favour of opportunity, didn't he have to?

After all, he wasn't supposed to kill people, either.

In Aemilius Inc. minor technicalities were swept aside as convenience dictated. Wulf wished he could get rid of his personal troubles as easily as he could _adjust_ an unsatisfactory balance sheet. Wouldn't the world be a wonderful place if he could just pull the folder labelled 'Fortune's Little Pranks' from its rightful place at the back of the bookshelf of his life, thumb through it until he found the Evonslate Ball, and cross it out with a thick black liner? He'd even settle for a provision and the return the bounty. There. Happy, Zenithar?

But the ancient patron god of merchants was otherwise occupied and the clusterfuck of Maro's assassination didn't simply dissolve into nothingness, much to Wulf's frustration.

From the sabotage of Maro's car to the setup of the ambush site the plan had worked out flawlessly. They had sprung the trap and caught the securities by surprise. Everything had gone well until the moment some crazy bastard flashbanged them and cut his way through five of Wulfryk's own guards, including two of his best men.

He'd almost finished off Wulf too, that night. The fight had been hairy, and under different circumstances Wulf would have enjoyed it. Different circumstances being ones in which he didn't end up on his back, about to have a knife driven through his chest. Luckily, his attacker did not see his emergency weapon, or new 'toy' as Lydia called the shocker. Except that luck had nothing to do with it, because the guy he was fighting was blind on one side. And Wulf had paused because he could see blond hair spilling out from under the Nord's helmet, and the faint outline of three scars.

He had not seen Argis at the ball. Damn, why had he not seen him? And why hadn't he connected the dots earlier? It had been all in the files about Varo's security firm, and one of the first things he had guessed about the other man he had dated what felt like ages ago. _Ex-Legion._

Fuck.

They had held the funeral for their own dead four days ago. Most of Maro's guards had gone gown fairly easily, but Argis had taken Uthgerd, Torvar and Sinmir down and Wulf was three trustworthy employees short.

The blond Nord had then promptly gone underground and disappeared. He must have taken Wulf's advice to heart. Wulfryk would not have believed it to be possible, that some of his best trackers could come up with absolutely nothing. How friggin' hard could it be to find a blond, scarred Nord with only one good eye, who carried a sword and stood head and shoulders over most Imperials? Apparently it was damn near impossible. Argis had not gone back home, he hadn't been sighted in public and he didn't have an account which might help in tracking him down.

Leaving the other Nord alive was a risk, one that might cause him significant trouble if Argis decided to talk to the wrong people. Wulf didn't usually take risks. He protected the family, killed without second thoughts, and ran the business the way his father had taught him. There was no room for sentiment when he was on a job, but... Talos' Balls, he truly must have had his brains fucked out to try to justify a fuckup of such magnitude.

Wulf groaned. If any of his employees jeopardized the organization in such a way and tried to argue their way out with, 'I couldn't possibly shoot him, boss, he's just too good in bed', he'd have them flayed alive.

But for better or for worse, he had made his choice and he was going to stick to it.

There was a knock on his door and Lydia poked her head in. Wulf lifted his forehead from his desk, hoping there was no pressure mark. "Lydia." He was about to tell her to leave him alone, when she walked in, holding his cat in front of her like a shield.

"Look who else is here," she sang and deposited Toots in his lap.

"Kitty," Wulf crooned though if asked he would lie and deny that such a sound ever passed his lips, and bent down so Toots could rub her head against his jaw.

"I think she missed you," Lydia said. "You've been cooped up here all week. It's Fredas."

"M-hmm." He was still too busy showering his cat with affection to properly reply.

"Rough day?"

"H-hmm," Wulf hummed in answer again, without looking up.

Lydia sighed and began to prod him in the back. "Come on, then. Vilkas is waiting outside to give you Vignar's report and we then we can all call it a day."

At her insistence, Wulfryk let himself be ushered out of his office, Toots slung over one shoulder like a trophy. She enjoyed the position of honour, purring into his ear. Lydia was right, he could finish tomorrow morning, start over when his mind was fresh and he had not had spent nine hours building up his frustration. He did, however, forget to bring a coffee, so they detoured through the kitchens. A few workers were sitting around the tables, eating dinner.

"What is that?" Wulf asked while waiting for his pot to brew, and pointed at something one of the men was eating. It looked pale and soggy and gross.

"Peanut butter and jelly sandwich, sir."

Wulf knew he must have looked as shell shocked as he felt upon hearing the answer. He might even have leaned away a bit, as if such appalling taste in lunch was a catching disease. "Get the fuck away from me you sick son of a bitch before I have you fired," he muttered, eyes glued to the offending foodstuff.

The employer looked like he might cry before he fled and Wulf turned to his secretary. "Lydia? Why do we employ people like that?"

"What's gotten into you?" she retorted with a shake of her dark head and led the way to the conference room, the twins following after a respectable distance.

"Nothing," Wulf grumbled and took a sip of his coffee. Apart from scalding his tongue, it tasted burned.

He couldn't very well say what was on his mind after lying to his whole crew about the fate of the killer guy as the others had labelled Argis. Jenassa's group believed the Companions had gotten rid of him, the Companions in turn thought the others had taken care of it.

Out of the corner of his eyes Wulf saw Vilkas lean closer to his brother. "Maybe that's the problem," the Nord whispered, not quietly enough for his boss to overhear it.

Which, of course, was what Wulf had had Argis for. Except that the blond Nord was gone now and that didn't improve his mood one bit. "Oh," he whirled on the twins, whose eyes widened. "So you're funny. You know what else is funny?" Wulf asked and answered his own question, because Vilkas' lips were pursed and Farkas was suddenly showing great interest in his toes. "Unemployment. Without health insurance. Because you're of no bloody use to me right now."

The two were quite a sight with bruises and scrapes still healing. Farkas' arm was in a cast that he carried in a sling around his neck, because his collarbone was broken too. His brother's arm had to be set and he had needed stitches, but instead of a fracture he had gotten away with a concussion and an evening of puking his guts out.

"He came out of nowhere," the smaller of the twins mumbled, "We were taken by surprise, s'all."

"Much of a guard that makes you." Wulf threw himself into one of the massaging chairs and punched the 'on' button on the remote. "Before we begin, order something to eat, will you? All I've had for breakfast was half a bottle of scotch and a handful of gummy bears."

Farkas took care of that, glad to flee the room and escape the glimmer of Wulfryk's legendary temper. A quarter of an hour later Lydia stormed off to help him carry the food up. She put it down before her boss with a cheerful, "Voilà. Zucchini cream soup with herbs and roasted potato slices, and vegetable rolls in puff pastry."

Wulf inhaled the smell and smiled up at her. "You're a lifesaver."

"Just looking out after myself," Lydia replied, her hands kneading his shoulders. "Eat and stop being a grouchy bastard."

Wulf's stomach grumbled in response and for once he followed her advice without arguing. The only being oblivious to the underlying tension in the room was Toots, who quit playing with the tassels of the drapes and jumped on the table, nose twitching. Wulf dipped a finger into his soup and offered it to her. She sniffed it, then cautiously licked the drop off his finger and decided the soup wasn't as much to her liking as her own asshole. Wulf snorted and flicked away her tail before it landed in his food.

"You know what the worst part is about you two deciding to play punchbags?" Wulf asked the twins halfway through his meal. "I lost my training dummies." It was as much of an apology as they were going to get. Everybody around him breathed an inaudible sigh of relief, as they finally relaxed, knowing that they had escaped being chewed out any more and because he wasn't really angry with them, just hungry and overworked.

You're heartless," Lydia stated with mock shock and Wulf flashed her a grin.

"Sorry for the inconvenience," Vilkas ground out. "Next time we're planning an extended trip to the hospital, we'll inform you in advance, won't we, brother?"

Farkas shook his head. "No, we'll make it a surprise. You know how much Wulf loves those."

Wulfryk laughed at the allusion to the one and only time his friends had waited inside his apartment to throw a surprise birthday party, and devoured the last of his veggie rolls. He was feeling much better now that his stomach was full and even mustered the energy to actually listen to Vilkas' report, occasionally firing a rubber band at the other Nord. One actually managed to get stuck to his gelled hair. They called an end to their meeting not long after. The twins took their leave, Farkas whispering something to Lydia that set them both off snickering behind their hands.

Lydia sidled up to Wulf, collecting all the documents lying around into a neat pile out of habit. "Does Lea still want my help with the preparations for Flower Day?"

"Probably," Wulf answered. "I don't know. You'll have to ask her."

"Alright. See you at Sundas, Wulf." She kissed his cheek and vanished through the doors.

Wulfryk looked around the empty office to find his cat standing on the desk in front of him. She stared at him with huge green eyes, expecting the world.

"Movie night?" he asked Toots. She meowed. Wulf interpreted it as a 'yes'.

 

Sundas midday was reserved for family brunch. It had had always been, for as long as Wulf could remember. In the last years though, the number of people who would show up had increased greatly. Now it was pretty much open house to all their friends and frequently stretched into the late afternoon.

Wulf spent the morning in the Aemilius manor with his mother. Now that she and his father were divorced, he knew that she would occasionally get lonely. She had her parties and friends, but they weren't family. Garmr was in Solitude to work on business connections and Wulf was browsing through the internet for real estate, while his mother studied a catalogue on interior design. She enjoyed redecorating the house every now and then, consistent with various themes, with this year's being apricot and exotic woods.

"What do you think?" Wulf twisted his laptop in Eleanora's direction, interrupting her reading.

She pushed her glasses higher and peered at the screen. "The offer does look good, but... the docks, darling? Why not somewhere nicer? We could buy a summer villa in the Elven Gardens."

"I don't _operate_ in the Elven Gardens," Wulf countered, just as the doorbell rang.

His mother got up with a shake of her head and headed to receive their visitor. Wulf raised his eyes in time to see Lydia give his mother a hug. She had brought a staple of brochures and gave Wulf an awkward, one handed wave in welcome as she toed off her shoes.

"I thought it is your day off," Lydia chided later, when she caught him highlighting figures.

Wulf had a nagging suspicion she knew that he had spent yesterday in his office again. "It is," he replied. The doorbell rang again and Wulf hauled himself up to his feel with a groan, because his mother was in the kitchens to check on the roast. Kodlak, Njada, Fralia, Olfina and Vignar were standing on the front lawn, already deeply engrossed in some debate.

The twins arrived shortly after and Wulf watched his mother fuss over both of them. Vilkas always brought flowers and dressed up, and Farkas always tried though he ended up looking like somebody had stuck a very big and shaggy bear in a suit and given it a tie as a collar. Wulf rubbed his eyes to convince himself they weren't bleeding from the sight of blue and yellow polka dots.

Never mind that the two buffoons practically lived in this house and spent six days a week with Lady Eleanora. Wulf had pulled them off their duty only because of their injuries. Jen and Athis were enough of a guard for the moment, though hone wouldn't know by the tongue-lashing Vignar gave them.

Dinner, as was its wont, turned out to be a lengthy affair. Kodlak nodded along to everything Olfina said and Fralia, with tears in her eyes, read a letter she had received from her husband to Lea.

Eorlund, Skjor and Aela had refused to leave their homeland and start a new life in the Imperial City. Together with a few others they were rebuilding the Companions. The mead hall of Ysgramor had been the first building to be erected on the plains of Whiterun thousands of years ago, it would be the first one to mark the beginning of a new era.

Vilkas and Njada were arguing about... the best way to launder delicate wool, of all things, and Lydia was playing footsie under the table with Farkas. At least that's what she believed. Wulf's feet were getting caressed _a lot_ tonight.

Sometime later everybody had a box of leftovers to take home, labelled and stacked one atop the other. Lydia was occupying one half of the couch, Wulf the other, and everybody else was lounging about in a blissful state of lethargy.

Farkas petted his belly and suppressed a hiccup. He rubbed his fingers over a stain on his waistcoat, which he had unbuttoned sometime hours ago. "Don't know why I bother with that thing."

"Neither does anybody else," Vilkas agreed. "Did you know it was considered terrible manners during the third era to–"

I just come here to stuff myself on the best cooking in all of Colovia and watch TV on the big-ass flatscreen," Lydia interrupted the smaller twin and took a pull on the straw stuck in her hot chocolate dessert. "You could get one, Wulf."

"Toots is afraid of the TV," Wulf replied, sparing the flickering screen one glance before his eyes drifted closed again, "But she likes to lie on the charger of my laptop."

"Where is she?" Lydia asked, looking around.

"Probably out, with the dogs."

Lydia yawned, not bothering to cover her mouth. "Your cat is weird."

"Is that Maro?" Njada asked out of nowhere.

"Probably not; he's very dead," Vilkas replied without looking up from his newspaper.

"And may he rest in pieces," Wulf added.

Lydia snorted her cocoa out through her nose. How charming.

"No, dipshit!" Njada swatted the Companion on the arm and pointed towards the TV. "He's on the news."

Wulf looked up to see that she was right; Maro's face was staring down at them all. He was younger on the picture, his pattern baldness not quite as pronounced.

"Turn the volume up!"

Farkas dived for the remote and a moment later they could hear the commentator's voice, _"The Penitus Oculatus are investigating into the disappearance of the politician..."_

Wulf stopped listening to anything that followed the 'Penitus Occulatus'. The Emperor's own secret service. What did they care about Maro? And why? "Lydia!"

"Sssh!" she waved her hand in his face without taking her eyes from the screen.

The reporter finished talking and a busty blonde in high heels appeared in his place. " _And the weather for the next week –"_

Vilkas turned off the TV. It was quiet enough in the room one could hear a pin drop.

Wulf cleared his throat, the next words coming out in a hushed whisper. He felt like he had been struck by lightning, and he wasn't the only one, judging by the wide eyes and surprised faces all around him. "Whose toes did we just step on?"

 

The very question was still racing through his mind, hours later. The only explanation was that they had overlooked something, or – and he almost shied away from the possibility – that somebody had talked. But there was only one such person and Wulf couldn't get his hands on him because he had no idea where the other Nord had disappeared to. It wasn't like he could just waltz up to-

"Oh, would you look at this," Wulf said, causing his mother to look up. "The Palais Theatre is playing the Thief of Virtue." He snorted. According to the critics the play was rather immoral, if most entertaining. A desperate damsel in distress trying to saviour her last days of freedom in the arms of another man before her arranged marriage with a very rich (if obviously not as good-looking) husband. Over the course of the play she would then reveal her true self as a femme fatale and probably get one or both of her lovers killed.

Kitschy, overdone love scenes, liberally seasoned with drama and intrigue: that was Alessian Opera in a nutshell. And the one thing Lea loved more than dinner parties. "I didn't know," she breathed.

"You are friends with Lady Maeve, are you not?" Wulf asked. "We should send her an invitation as a thank-you."

His mother was enamoured with the idea, he could see. An evening like that would give her plenty opportunity to gossip about her favourite topic – her son. It only confirmed Wulf's theory, when his mother hinted, "Ah, but you never told me how your date went."

"Alright."

"Then... we could invite him as well?" Eleanora asked, eyes crinkling with mirth at her son's visible discomfort..

Wulf did not want to upset her with 'he probably doesn't want to see me after I murdered his buddies and cost him his job, and chose the most evasive route. "I'd rather you didn't."

His mother's smile disappeared like the sun behind the clouds, and the room seemed colder all of a sudden. "Why not?" She sounded worried. "Did something go wrong?"

Wulf affected a long-suffering sigh. "It went fine, mother. Let's just forget I said anything, please."

She huffed in thinly concealed annoyance and turned back to her book, but her voice was far too smooth when she said, "As you wish, darling."

Wulf nodded, and hid his smile behind one of the pulpy boulevard magazines his mother enjoyed reading. If there was one thing in this world he could count on, it was Lady Aemilia's ability to meddle in her stubborn son's life; all for his own good, of course.


	8. Argis

Argis looked at the display of his new mobile phone, suppressed the urge to chuck it against the wall to see it shatter into a thousand pieces and a cloud of fairy dust, and with a heavy heart pressed the call button. His own phone had been smashed beyond repair, but the sim card had survived and Lars had been _kind_ enough to give him his old one. Argis hated the stupid thing. The way it felt wrong in his hand, the design – peachy and glittery with some... unicorn... shit of all things – and that it couldn't be flipped open, because that had been pretty cool.

But that was all Lars for you; and if somebody had a death wish they could just make fun of the redheaded Legionnaire.

Three rings and then Argis heard the receiver being picked up. _"Hello?"_

"Hello, Nana."

"Argis!" his grandmother exclaimed and he could picture her clutching her hand against her chest. "Where have you been? You promised to call!"

"Yes," he replied, feeling guilty to have left her worrying and quickly followed it up by, "I'm sorry." She did not know that he had been Maro's guard, but he should have called her as soon as he'd gotten out of the ambush nonetheless. That day he'd been too tired, however, and afterwards, between worrying about being tracked down by Wulfryk and Varo, he'd quite forgotten. "I'm fine."

"Well." Maeve wasn't happy, but apparently she was willing to drop the matter. "It's good you called. Are you coming to Lady Aurelia's soiree tomorrow?"

"Uh...," Argis couldn't remember whether he had promised to or not. Probably, because his grandmother would never otherwise assume that he wanted to sit around with a bunch of elderly ladies and talk about what styles were particularly fashionable this season and whose daughter was getting married to whom. But Maeve liked to show off her grandson, the only member of her family here in the Imperial City, every now and then and if it made her happy, he could oblige her on occasion. The warrior hated to go back on his word, but these were very special circumstances he currently found himself in. "No. I can't."

"No?" Now his grandmother sounded worried and a bit sad and it made him want to kick himself. "Did something happen?"

The Nord couldn't say what he had been involved in, but a humourless laugh escaped him at that. "I might have to leave the country for a bit." It would be the sensible thing to do.

There was a sigh at the other end of the line and Argis imagined his grandmother giving her ceiling a very pointed look. "Now you're being dramatic."

He really wasn't, but his comment had the desired effect of making Maeve believe he was just in a particularly bizarre mood this day. She didn't wait for him to explain, but continued straight away. "But you never told me. How did your date go?"

Argis had opened his mouth before he realized that he had no idea what to say and snapped it shut again. "It... uhh..." He scratched the back of his neck in discomfort, a habit he had never gotten out of.

There was a knowing chuckle at the other end of the line and the warrior realized that his grandmother was probably laughing, thinking he was too embarrassed to tell her. Argis knocked his forehead against the wall. Mara, this was going badly.

Maeve released him from his suffering by not waiting for an answer, before commenting slyly, "He asked after you."

And Argis' heart stopped. Four words to make him feel cold all over. "What did he say?" He was surprised by how deadly calm he sounded.

She did not even notice that something was wrong and cheerfully prattled on, "Such a nice young man. And _very_ handsome."

"He's not as nice a person as you think," the warrior said coldly, remembering Maro's terrified face as he was dragged before the Nord who executed him without batting an eyelash.

"Now, now; you're the one who is being all weird," Maeve lectured and he could almost see her waggling a bony finger at him. "He invited us to the theatre." Her tone lost its hard edge there. "The Aemilius box. Isn't that _wonderful_?"

Argis clutched the phone so hard he felt the case give away under his fingers. He forced himself to relax his grip again. "Don't go."

"What is–"

He cut her off. "Listen. Promise me you won't go." Argis could tell her what had happened, what her friend's son was involved in. But then she had been associated with Lady Aemilia for quite a while and there was a good chance Wulfryk wanted to use this occasion to question her. If she didn't know anything, all the better. The warrior was aware that this was a ruse to lure him out.

"But I already accepted!" Maeve replied, piqued, and he realized she would never take his advice – not without good reason. Which he couldn't provide. Argis would bet everything he possessed that Wulfryk had his grandmother's house watched. He couldn't explain what had happened on the phone without sounding crazier than he already did, and he couldn't do so in person. The only way to keep her safe would be to keep her clueless and to comply. He didn't even want to think about what might happen to her if he did not show up.

She was still talking, but he wasn't listening any more. All the time he'd worried about them coming for him...

"Yes. Yes. I love you too, granny," Argis replied automatically and hung up with the feeling of a man who had signed his own death warrant. He had stayed away from his family because he did not want any attention drawn to them and now they were being used against him. And he'd be damned before he'd let any harm befall his family. Time to come out of hiding and find out what Mr Aemilius wanted.

 

Two days later found the warrior in a classy uptown tailor's shop picking up his new suit that he had never ordered to be made. To his greatest disappointment it was an almost perfect fit. Argis chose shoes by comfort, ignored the tailor's pointed looks and ordered him to widen the suit.

 

The Palais Theatre was one of the few buildings in the historic center of the Imperial City that had not been destroyed in the bombings of 4E 174. It was indeed a palace dedicated to opulence; rich burgundy carpets covered broad swathes of the marble floor, the high walls were adorned with oil paintings set in ornate golden frames and there were real torches burning in scones that lightened up dark corners and added to the atmosphere.

Maeve was commenting on the ceiling frescoes, the newest rumours about the director of the play they were about to see, and the various guests they passed in an excited whisper, never for once letting go of her grandson's arm as she steered them through the masses.

Argis meanwhile felt as out of place here, amongst the upper class citizens and butlers with their noses pointed towards the ceiling and balancing trays with champagne glasses, as any of these people would in the mosquito- and mine infested quagmires of the Black Woods.

He had about five seconds' worth to steel himself after they passed Donna d'Arlay whom his grandmother referred to as an 'overambitious designing hussy' before he caught sight of the last person he actually wanted to see.

Argis took in Wulfryk Aemiluis' crisp suit, radiant smile and noted the generous gestures he used when talking to a stocky Imperial in a frock coat. The man looked like he owned the place. From what little Argis knew, he very well might. A middle-aged, but strikingly elegant woman hung from his arm. She was about a head shorter than Wulf and had the distinct air of Colovian nobility about her.

The woman who had to be Lady Aemilia saw them first, her delicate hand tightening on her son's forearm. She inclined her head in their direction, and Wulf broke off his conversation to look their way. His Imperial friend excused himself, aware that the new arrivals had stolen Wulfryk's attention.

"Maeve." Eleanora exclaimed softly in a rich throaty voice that she somehow managed to pitch just right to be heard above all the others.

Wulf too gifted Argis with a smile. "Hello."

Argis nodded back. He was finding it hard to pretend at happiness, telling himself over and over again that the other Nord wasn't going to pull a gun and shoot him – or his grandmother, because honestly Argis had lost the ability to fear for himself about a decade ago – right in front of his mother.

"You look absolutely stunning today, my dear," Argis heard his grandmother say and watched as she kissed her friend's powdered cheek.

Wulf bent his head to whisper in her ear. "You see? Everybody's jealous of you tonight, mother." He straightened with an impish grin. "You have the best looking escort, after all."

She smacked her purse into his upper arm. "Now you ruined it." Lady Eleanora let go of her son's elbow and grabbed Maeve's hand, pulling the other woman away from her grandson.

Argis was left behind with Wulf, whose eyes raked over the other man. "It's nice of you to come."

Like he had had any choice in the matter. Argis returned the scrutiny, noticing that something about Wulfryk was different from how he remembered him. "You cut your hair."

"It was getting too long." Wulf his raised his hand to his head, and dropped it again with a chagrined expression. Instead of messing up his hairstyle he chose to point his thumb over his shoulder. "Bar's this way, if you want anything."

"I'm fine," Argis replied curtly.

"Suit yourself." A moment later Wulf was waving a rolled up bill at the bartender, and received a glass half-full with some amber liquid for it. He took a sip and touched his free hand to the center of Argis' chest in an almost admiring sort of way. "You look- ," the Nord broke off with a frown.

Wulf rapped his knuckles against Argis' sternum, and drew up his eyebrows at the hollow sound it produced. He snorted in amusement and downed the rest of his drink in one go. "This is quite unnecessary, you know?"

Argis smoothed his hands over his suit to straighten it out again. It was only the body armour he was wearing underneath that made this entire getup bearable. It had been also an interesting experience, finding out how many weapons he could conceal. "Don't pretend this isn't a set up," the housecarl said, cutting through all the bullshit of small talk. "I won't talk. I don't give a shit about what you do," he wasn't exactly clean himself, "as long as you leave my friends and family alone."

"Ah, but you see," Wulf replied with an apologetic grimace, "I can't do that. Because you grandmother, who is a lovely lady, by the way, is friends with mother and – do you want to tell mother? Because I don't. Now try to relax and enjoy the evening, yes?" He half-turned and indicated an abandoned corridor to their left. "Let's go, the play starts in ten minutes."

Argis followed Wulf past a stony-faced orderly, up two sets of winding stairs and to a dark booth. Maeve and Eleanora were already seated and talking quietly. Argis took the chair next to his grandmother, and Wulf the one to his left. The Nord had not been in many places where the seats were big enough to be comfortable for him, but these were huge and plush, with a red satin cover and wide, soft armrests. Wulf threw himself into his and put his feet up on the rail, one hand reaching for the silver snack tray.

"Ooh, peanuts." He nabbed a plastic bag and ripped it open enthusiastically.

His mother shook her head in disapproval. "You'll get crumbs all over your-"

"Waf?" Wulf had already stuffed a handful of peanuts in his face.

Eleanora did not comment further, but scanned the crowd. She sounded shocked when a moment later she asked, "What _is_ Lady Olava wearing?"

Wulf fished out a pair of binoculars from somewhere next to his seat and lazily lifted them to his eyes with one hand. "Looks like her dead poodle," he said after a few seconds of thought.

"As in her dog?" Argis heard Maeve ask. His poor grandmother sounded confused.

"It's not a dog," Lady Aemilia replied tartly, "It's an abomination."

"True," Wulf agreed. "It is a monstrous apparition spawned in the very depths of Oblivion itself, which has become the scourge of the neighbourhood on Sundas mornings."

His mother and Maeve both chuckled and Wulf went back to studying the other patrons until he found something that made him drop his binoculars and rub his eyes as if he wanted to get rid of whatever he had just seen. He handed the glasses to Argis' grandmother, and with a spiteful sneer remarked, "Check out Porcius' companion. In lodge seventy-four."

Maeve looked and gasped in shock. "She's what? A quarter of his age? This is disgusting."

Her friend nodded along. "His mother must have had an epiphany at birth to name her boy after a swine," Eleanora agreed.

"Brave gold digger." Wulf muttered around his thumb, biting off a piece of skin near the nail, and spat it out – possibly on some unfortunate person who happened to be passing below their gallery. And if that wasn't an allegory of what life in the Imperial City was like, Argis didn't know. "Have fun sucking shrivelled old-man cock."

The blond warrior cast a quick sidelong glance at the two women to his right, who by all appearances appeared to have overheard that last comment.

Wulf must have noticed him flush in embarrassment, because he tipped his head, a smile that meant trouble playing around his lips. "Argis. My mother was married. I know that whom you sleep with won't give you children, but I can shed some light on the matter for you." The other man's eyes were too bright and a bit glazy. Argis wondered how much he had had to drink.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," Wulf replied primly. "Oh, they're kissing. It's so sweet. Mother, did we bring sick bags?"

"Try under your seat," Eleanora retorted at once. "Maybe he will suffer a coronary and die. I know _she_ would find that quite agreeable."

"Eh, the old and bitter never die," Maeve said and it sounded like she was speaking from experience. Argis suddenly wondered why it was she never spoke about his grandfather.

"You know, mother," Wulfryk stated dryly, "Most people would show more joy at the announcement of their own immortality."

Argis just stared.

Wulf turned to him with a grin that was bright in the semi-darkness. "You'll get the whole Aemilius experience tonight," he said, one arm coming to rest over Argis' shoulders, "For free. Be glad, I usually charge very steep rates."

"And there goes my son saying he's a prostitute," Eleanora added without missing a beat. "I'm so proud of you, darling."

Wulf waved a hand in her direction and almost ended up smacking Argis in the face. "Don't listen to her. She's jealous because I don't give her a discount." Then, as if it had been Argis talking all the time, he touched a finger across his lips and sharply whispered, "Sssh."

As if on cue the remaining lights went out and the theatre was cast in darkness. A spot of muted light blossomed on the stage, growling larger and drumbeat announced the beginning of the play. Theatre really wasn't something Argis would think he'd enjoy, but he had to admit the orchestra music was amazing and the Aries, though not really his thing, were pretty well done too. The stage decoration was almost too much to take in and the actors had fantastic, colourful costumes. They acted out what the soloists were singing about so he could follow the plot without getting lost. Argis leaned back and tried to ignore the other Nord beside him until Wulfryk reached between his legs, cupping his private parts. The blond Nord shot upright, ready to deck him one on principle, but the hand was already gone and Wulf looked back him with a mix of feigned innocence and amusement.

"Sorry. Dropped this one." His smirk said that he might well have done it on purpose. Wulfryk popped the fugitive snack into his mouth and Argis was uncomfortably reminded of the time it had been something else entirely the other man had been sucking on.

The intermission arrived quicker than Argis had anticipated and he wasn't really surprised when Wulf hit the bar again. So far he still had no idea why he was here, and lounged against the wall, observing the people around him and listening in on fragments of their conversations. Such, he had the opportunity to overhear the gem of a conversation between Wulfryk and his mother.

"Ugh, what are you gawking at, creep?" the dark haired Nord's voice, directed at some Imperial, rose above the general din of people talking. "Stop eyeballing me!" He took a pull of something of undoubtedly high percentage. "Bloody riff-raff."

"Darling!" Lady Eleanora corrected, "Your language!"

"I'm sorry mother. I meant to say: Avert your eyes, insolent peasant. Ugh. The bourgeoisie is terrible this evening, isn't it, mother?"

"Well, they do let in anybody these days," she replied with a tiny, very much unladylike pout and a piercing glance in her son's direction.

Wulfryk laughed as if it was the greatest joke ever told and waved at Argis' grandmother who joined them a moment later. Together they walked back to the box and the warrior pondered if this really was the man who had murdered Maro in cold blood. Wulf was playing his role to perfection. Or maybe he had a twin brother. He sang along to the second parts of the play and it was a damned shame the man had to have such a good voice. When somebody from below complained, Wulf tossed a peanut in their direction.

"Darling! You cannot throw food at the commoners!" his mother cried in outrage. "They'll cling to you like stray dogs!"

"The Great War's over, mother."

"Why am I here again?" Argis asked his tie.

Wulf leaned over until Argis was sure he was going to fall over. Instead the blond felt warm lips against the shell of his ear and then Wulf purred seductively, " _I_ only come here to scandalize." Beneath the clean smell of soap and the fresh cologne Argis caught a potent whiff of whiskey. "You know, it's dark enough I think they," Wulfryk nodded towards the two women, "Probably wouldn't notice us slipping away. We could fuck behind the stage."

Argis stared at him, mortified.

The dark haired Nord smiled innocently and raised his bag to give it a tiny shake. "Peanut?"

 

Before the last act was over, Wulf nudged Argis' leg with his foot. "Come on. I need to go to the toilet and I'm not doing that during rush hour."

"But won't you miss the play?" Maeve asked him in concern.

"Ugh. The lover guy is murdered by the father when he finds out about the affair he is having with his daughter and she'll probably try to kill herself in a very unrealistic way that will inevitably result in the death of her husband. Or maybe he'll poison the whole family in a fit of jealous pique."

"Wulfryk!" No 'darling' this time from Lady mother.

"What?" Wulf asked with a roll of his eyes. "It's Alessian opera. The day the director will come up with an original idea will mark the beginning of a new era." He raised his eyebrows at Argis. "Are you coming?"

The blond Nord got up because he thought that maybe finally he'd learn why he was here. But instead of being faced with threats or demands he was left to study the brass candle holders in the corridor. This entire place made him feel like he had been transported back into the third era. Argis rubbed his hand over the wooden handrail, worn smooth with the passing of the ages and wondered if this was how the lords of old had lived.

Wulf joined him after some time, after checking his appearance in a nearby mirror.

"I cannot believe there's only two toilets in here," Argis observed. He stopped when a round of applause broke out from the direction of the stage, so he guessed the play was over now. He actually regretted having missed the showdown and once more he only had the bastard Wulfryk to thank for it. "There's hundreds of people!"

"An oversight of the architect," Wulf told him and came to stand beside Argis, elbows leaning on the railing and close enough that their upper arms touched. "He hanged himself for it," the Nord added cheerfully. Then his eyes went wide and before Argis could resist he was being ushered towards the entrance where there was a small commotion.

The cause of the stir turned out to be the arrival of a news crew. Once the reporter caught sight of Wulf, there was no escape. Argis, feeling very much out of depth here, was positioned next to Wulfryk, and told to turn this look this way and in the next instant he was rubbing green spots out of his eyes. It probably wasn't worth the hassle to axe the reporters.

At least it distracted Wulf. The other man was clearly in his element here, basking in the limelight, and making a short statement about how he had enjoyed his visit to the theatre. A full glass had made its way into his hand and Argis couldn't even begin to guess how – they hadn't been anywhere near the bar.

Wulf turned his dazzling, twenty-four karat smile on the cameraman for the last time and Argis was surprised that the guy didn't go up in flames. "I love making it to the front page," he later told the blond Nord who grunted in answer.

Through the crowd of people leaving it took them a while to find his gran and Lady Aemilia. "There you are," Eleanora said, "Where have you been?"

Wulf looked pleased with himself when he replied, "Whoring myself out to the cameras."

His mother seemed disappointed to have missed the opportunity to do the same. "There is a party for... selected members," she suggested and Argis' hopes of going home died right with her son stating,

"And you want to make an appearance."

"Well." She righted her shawl before continuing, "It would be rude not to."

There was indeed a gathering in one of the side rooms usually closed off to the public.

"A dance, milady?" Wulf whisked away Argis' grandmother for a spin on the parquet. The blond Nord couldn't even blame him, because when they came back she was beaming and he could see she was having the time of her life.

An hour later it was decided that Eleanora would take Maeve with her and Argis fidgeted while Wulf's mother was talking to her son. "It's been a wonderful evening. I'll see you on Sundas, yes?"

"Of course," Wulf answered and kissed mother's cheek in farewell.

Argis wasn't sure how to part with Lady Aemilia, having an eerie feeling he should bow and kiss the back of her hand. But she gifted him with a warm smile and surprisingly it was enough for him to shake her hand like normal people did. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

"Uh...," Argis managed to stammer out. "You too."

Wulf was chewing on his bottom lip while watching them depart, but he quickly stopped when Argis looked his way. "How about I drive you home?" he suggested with a hopeful smile.

"Thank you. I think I'll take the bus."

Wulf's happy attitude slipped a bit. "As you wish." He cleared his throat but didn't say anything more, just shrugged and turned around. Moments later he had disappeared into the crowd.

Argis headed outside and tilted his head back when he took a deep breath of the night air. It may just have been his imagination, but it didn't feel nearly as fresh here as it did in the Academy West. He lived on the outskirts of the city, in a small district between the Old Waterfront and the Imperial University, which had been erected for Great War veterans had definitely seen better times. But there was a nice wood for strolls not ten minutes' walk away from his apartment and he liked how calm the neighbourhood was.

Probably due to the fact that its inhabitants were slowly dying out, but he did not think about that. Argis still did not know what the point of this entire evening had been, and that in itself made him nervous. It had not gone like he had imagined it to, which was good one hand because he had not been forced to kill a very well-connected influential figure who gave the world's most amazing blowjobs. On the other he had no idea what Wulfryk wanted. Had this whole thing been arranged just for the man's amusement? Was it his way of telling him that he could harm Maeve anytime Argis stepped out of line?

Deep in thoughts, the warrior strolled to the nearest bus stop. Somebody had vandalized the seats with graffiti, the bin was hanging askew and the timetable was missing. Argis checked his watch purely out of habit before he realized that he had no way of knowing when and if the bus would come. Maybe he should have taken Wulfryk up on the offer, just to the next train station. He had been standing there for a good ten minutes when a posh car pulled into the turn lane and honked. The Nord was about to raise a hand to flip the jerk of a driver off, when the window rolled down.

Wulf regarded him with an amused expression, chin in hand. "You know the bus doesn't come on Loredas nights, right?"

The car behind Wulf honked. He stuck his middle finger through the window and the other driver tore away with screeching tires. Wulf unlocked the door on the passenger's side and gave it a kick to open it. No respect for such a fine car, and that tore at Argis' heartstrings, who cursed the other man vehemently for not telling him earlier. If Wulf felt offended at the blond's suggestion of what he could do that involved stocks, a sack full of brambles, a pitchfork and a cod, he did not show it. Apparently it was enough that they were still playing his little game.

Argis considered the options left to him; he had arrived here via public transport and he didn't want to walk home or wander about in search for the nearest night line. Neither did he want to ring up his friends in the middle of the night, and with the money he now owed Varus he couldn't afford a cab.

So he did the only thing left to him, crossed the street and got in.


	9. Wulf

Wulfryk had, on many an occasion and by a wide range of unassociated people, been told that his driving habits would encourage the Daedra themselves to rethink their way of life and to take up praying in atonement for the various sins they had committed. It wasn't that he didn't have any regard for his passengers' or his own safety, quite to the contrary, but neither was it his fault that the traffic lights never wanted to cooperate, nor that one-ways always popped up in the least convenient of places. He may have drank a bit more than he should have, which certainly wasn't helping matters any; but the rest? Traffic regulations were more like guidelines to a safe but ultimately less speedy arrival than actual rules, and to be followed or not at one's own risk.

Wulf ignored a turn sign – he wouldn't allow a colourful piece of metal to command him around – and hoped that Argis did not mind going twice the speed limit. The blond did not comment, but if his white-knuckled grip on the armrest was an indication, he had noticed. Wulf remembered to keep his eyes on the road without being admonished about it by Lydia, and experienced a brief moment of vertigo when the road markings blurred.

Next to him, Argis shifted in his seat, unease radiating from him like cool air from the conditioning. "Nice car." It sounded like he was desperately searching for something to say that wasn't either a grave insult or a blasphemy.

Wulf wasn't drunk enough to miss the undercurrent of ' _too_ _bad there is such an idiot driving_ _it_ ' and decided to focus more on the part where Argis had praised his beloved Mulsanne. "Do you like it?" he asked with optimism.

Argis grunted, but reluctantly admitted, "I like the colour."

As did Wulf. "It's called 'Peacock'," he supplied helpfully and sniggered.

A heavy sigh from the passenger seat was the only answer he received. "Why am I not surprised?"

 

The road took them from the city center to the newer industrial district. "Talos Plaza was a right turn," Argis observed, stirring only when Wulfryk sped past the intersection that would take them to where Wulf remembered having dropped the other man off last time.

Last time which had been a near total disaster. Was Argis still pissed at him for nearly killing him? A brief glance confirmed that yes, he most likely was. "Yeah, well," Wulf's eloquence was declining at an alarmingly fast rate, beating even his dwindling driving skills. "I still have a few things of yours," he said in way of explanation.

Argis seemed to accept it, because he did not comment as they circled the main square where a wooden shelter had been erected to cover the statue of the man-god, and turned into the lane that took them over the canal and nearly all the way up to the Green Emperor's way.

The building of Aemilius Inc. rose from amidst the neat square gardens with exotic trees and decoratively cut hedges, dwarfing all other nearby edifices. Wulf steered his vehicle into the garage, offering the guard on duty a playful wink. The woman did not for one moment drop her professional demeanour to respond in kind. What a stick in the mud.

Disappointed with her lack of flirtation, Wulf slammed shut the car doors and thought that out of the corners of his eyes he saw Argis flinch.

The blond warrior was noticeably silent as he walked a half-step behind Wulfryk, who chose to think it was because the other man was admiring his ass rather than taking up a strategic position for knocking his lights out. If Argis thought that one-on-one he could take on Wulf, he was absolutely right.

It took the dark haired Nord three times to fit the key into the hole, and he let out a triumphant shout when he managed to unlock the door to his suite, the familiar sight and scent washing over him.

Home sweet home.

If he had been sober, Wulf might have realized the stupidity of his actions, but with the alcohol buzzing in his veins, inviting the other man up seemed like the best idea ever. Wulf knew his trick wouldn't work a second time. He had managed to catch the former Legionnaire by surprise once, but this time around of they ended up trying to kill each other he wouldn't be so lucky. Argis was without a doubt the better and more experienced fighter of the two of them.

The warrior had even managed to hold on to his sword, but Wufryk's people had... recovered... an axe that did not belong to one of their own, and as they hadn't interred Uthgerd with it buried in her head, Argis might as well have it back.

"So you have something of mine," Argis' deep voice brought Wulf back to the present.

"Your heart, perhaps?" Wulf tried and failed at seduction.  Damn, but he usually was more suave than this. He lifted two forefingers, which was weird because he remembered having only _one_ on each hand, signalling Argis to wait for one moment, and stumbled in the direction of his living room. He was nearly murdered by an excited Toots running up to him in greeting not a second later. As good as invisible in the dark, she wound around his legs, tripping him up.

Wulf snatched up his yowling cat from between his legs with one hand and grabbed the satchel with Argis' weaponry with the other. He returned to the other man, whose fingers were tapping against his biceps with impatience and shot him a fleeting smile in apology which did nothing to disperse the blond Nord's frown. Wulf sighed. The shield he should have kept for himself, but by the time the thought made it to his whiskey-addled brain, it was already too late.

He had looked after the weaponry or, to be more precise, he had ordered Lydia to have it taken care of, but it was the thought that counted, right?

"I cleaned it," Wulf said and offered his cat to Argis.

The warrior hoisted an eyebrow, the unscarred corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "That's very considerate of you."

Wulf starred at his hand and the cat dangling from his arm, like he didn't fully comprehend how they had ended up in the current position.

"No, Toots, what are you doing?" he scolded, deducing that she wanted to leave him for Argis. "Bad kitty!"

His cat shot him a confused glance, and, after arriving at the conclusion that it had had enough of its drunk human's antics, leapt down, shook herself, and stalked off towards the kitchen.

Faithless beast.

Wulf cast Argis a sheepish smile and held out the notably heavier and less furry bundle in his arms. He heard the other man's deep intake of breath when Argis pulled out his shield, and congratulated himself on how he had managed to arrange the entire evening. Except for his lack of balance and his double vision everything was going to plan, and Wulf ran his hand over the piece of matte, black metal in Argis' hands.

"Is that ebony ore?" he asked. He had never seen its like.

"Yeah."

Wulf let go and Argis slung the strap over his shoulder, his shield resting on his back easily, like it belonged there. Now that Wulfryk didn't have anything to hold on to he didn't know what to do with his hands. He could hide them in his pockets, but that would make him look like a slouch. He had been taught better. Wulf chose to lean against the doorframe. He tilted, afraid that he may have missed it, and knocked against the wood. Hard.

Argis snorted, turning his face away or one moment as if he was embarrassed in Wulf's stead. Ass. Still, his amusement at Wulf rubbing his sore shoulder stung.

"I thought the last mines on Raven Rock dried up two hundred or so years ago," the black haired Nord said, deciding to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurre

"They did."

What a conversationalist Argis was. Wulf whistled softly. "Then this is priceless," he mused, with a jut of his chin towards Argis' back. He had heard that ebony armour could make even ceramic and steel plate look like papier-mâché. Of course nobody had ever tested the theory. Whoever had something forged of the stuff kept it under lock and key.

"Wait. How did they forge it?" Wulf asked, suffering from an influx of clarity.

Argis shrugged. "Magic." His tone was so deadpan that Wulf couldn't tell if the warrior had actually cracked a joke or not.

Should he have laughed? Too late for that. The blond Nord looked like he was waiting for Wulfryk to do take action. He tried to focus, but instead his mind was busy admiring Argis' upper arms. They were very big and they took up a lot of his attention.

His brains were screaming at him to do something sensible, like invite the other man in and brew a pot of coffee, whilst his body remembered what it had been like to be covered by Argis' warm, solid weight.

Wulf took the advice of his dick over that of his head, and did the only thing he could think of at a short notice.

He pushed away from the doorway and managed not to overbalance, but only because Argis caught him around the upper arm. The gesture was born more out of habit than a concern for Wulf kissing the floor, but Wulfryk was just buzzed enough to love the whole world and the contact left him feeling all warm and tingly. At least he hoped it was from them being close, and not an allergic reaction to something he had eaten.

But such worries disappeared when he noticed that he was close enough to catch the flecks of gold in Argis' amber eyes. Eye. No, eyes. And more than any human should have. They was making Wulf dizzy, so he closed his and leaned in. Wulf knew he had found his mark when the bridge of his nose bumped against the other man's.

In the next instant they were kissing.

And it was just as amazing as he remembered it.

Argis' arms tightened around him, fingers digging into muscle hard enough to bruise. It was a sharp contrast to his lips, warm and pliant; an invitation for Wulf to explore it. He caressed Argis' tongue in a way that caused them both to press closer, hands wandering, open-mouthed and hungry. They shared a breathless moan –

– Then the blond warrior broke away.

Wulf felt Argis swallow by the jump of the other man's throat. And then the heat was gone and Argis was stepping back, shaking his head, and Wulf did a little wobble on the spot to stay upright. The blond warrior righted the strap of his shield and stepped back into safety, past that mysterious, insurmountable barrier that was the threshold.

"Goodbye, Wulf."

Wulf was spared from having to answer, when the door closed in his face, encasing him in darkness.

 

Wulfryk awoke to a mild hangover, a hungry and disgruntled cat, and the pleasant memory of Argis' warm lips against his. They had kissed – well, technically he had kissed Argis, exploiting the other Nord's surprise before being shoved away, but who cared about such details.  

Especially when the other man's initial reaction had been to kiss him back.

Despite the light throbbing in his head Wulf spent the day in a state of euphoria, surprising his workers by buying a truckfull of doughnuts for everybody. Not the dry, greasy stuff you got in seedy bistros, but the good kind, too. At midday he had himself an aspirin and a nap and in the afternoon he ordered for the biggest, flashiest bouquet of flowers to be sent to Argis' place, acting on some wild impulse. He wasn't sure if Argis was fond of flowers, but he could hardly send him a bouquet of steaks, and he believed it to be a nice gesture.

The joy lasted until the next day, when his mother called and spent a good ten minutes gushing over what an attentive and caring grandson her best friend had.

Wulf turned the phone on speaker mode, to better zone out, and stabbed his ice cream viciously enough that he bend the spoon into a useless u-shape. Caring. Like fuck.

It turned out that Argis wanted nothing to do with Wulf. He didn't answer a single one of his text messages and any calls went straight to voicemail. Wulf gave up after a few tries. He didn't feel like talking to an automat who sounded like Lydia when he already had one of those at work.

The rest of his week was bad enough, but one Middas two weeks after he had gone to see the play at the Palais, it hit rock bottom.

Wulf retired early that day due to a persistent headache that had sunk its claws into his skull and was tormenting him since the morning. He was comfortable on his couch and idly browsing the internet for the newest sketch of 'no one expects the Thalmor Inquisition' in one window, and looking for funny cat pictures and maybe some new porn to enjoy in the others, when he came upon the latest news. The glass of water he was about to take a sip from stopped somewhere halfway to his lips, forgotten.

In bold, incriminating letters the headline of the IC Times read, 'Bodyguard prime suspect in Maro disappearance'. Wulf skimmed over the article, committing the details to mind, until he arrived at the picture below. He stared at it, and the familiar figure squinting at the camera. Wulfryk had been cut out of it, but he had been there when the picture had been taken

If the Penitus Occulatus found Argis...

If he talked...

He should have killed him. If a person wasn't an asset and couldn't be recruited, the threat they posed had to be neutralized, no exceptions. His father had taught him that lesson when he had still been a boy. Wulf should have just grown a pair, closed his eyes if necessary, and put that knife through Argis' chest.

Wouldn't be the first time he had to put down a lover.  

He knew that he would get over the heartache eventually.

Wulf grunted as a sudden sting in his hand ripped him out of his morbid thoughts. The glass was in shards, its contents soaking into the carpet. The Nord stared at the cut in his palm, uncomprehending and fascinated by the blood that welled up, red and thick and almost too bright to be real.

He let his hand rest on the table, indifferent to the injury and the smear he left behind, and with the other he picked up the receiver of his phone, hitting a number he kept on speed dial. After two rings Wulf's call was picked up. Without waiting for the other man to greet him, he spoke, "Vignar. Get your cranky ass up here, _now_. We have a problem."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter as I am currently abroad and not particularly motivated after the HT disaster, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.


	10. Argis

Orange wasn't Argis' colour. It simply didn't go with his Nord complexion, or his blond hair. Other than that, the jumpsuit wasn't too bad – generally speaking – because Argis' happened to be flecked with blood.

On his first night in the Imperial Penal Complex some particularly conceited guards had thrown him into one of the communal cells which were also commonly referred to as the Kennels.

"That'll soften him up." They had laughed, and left him to his own devices.

Nobody was laughing now. Not Argis, not the guards, and certainly not the dead guy lying in a sprawl between the latter from the former.

Argis looked at the corpse at his feet. Death had not improved the man's looks any, but even with his face disfigured, he seemed vaguely familiar. If only he could remember where he might have seen him before. The Nord's concentration was disrupted by the noise and shouting as more and more security officers filed into the wrecked mess hall.

Argis counted eight tranquilizer guns trained on him, sighed, and lifted his hands in surrender.

 

It was the Penitus Oculatus that found him, the Emperor's very own secret service. They came knocking to his door at an ungodly hour; six agents dressed in black and looking like the epitome of cartoon villains meaning business. A petite but stern blonde woman who had to be the officer in charge shoved a badge under Argis' nose.

"In the name of the Empire; you are under arrest." She didn't even lead with 'good morning'. "You have the right to –"

"Grab some pants first, I hope," Argis interrupted her, which drew a snicker from a soldier to her right, a young man with a square jaw and chin-long auburn hair. His unblinking scrutiny told the warrior that the lad would be perfectly fine with a nearly naked Argis spending the car ride next to him.

Or on him.

But one soldier's adoration notwithstanding, Argis really did not want to do the prison walk of shame in his underwear.

Thankfully the woman nodded at one of her subordinates and he was handed a pair of pants that he had discarded on his couch a few days ago. The blond pulled them on under the Penitus' watchful gaze and discovered they had a coffee stain high on his left thigh. Argis sighed. He wouldn't be keeping them on for long anyway.

Her task completed, the officer surveyed the room they were standing in with a wrinkle of her snub-nose, and turned brusquely to march out of the front door. Argis looked around for the last time, which forced him to admit that the place indeed was a mess. The dirty dishes piling up in the sink were probably enough to get him arrested all on their own, on the grounds of being a biohazard. At least he didn't have to worry what his neighbours would think of him being led away like a criminal, thanks to the hour and the general lack of neighbours.

Argis used the car ride to figure out how the Penitus Oculatus had tracked him down. It didn't take him long to deduce that Varo must have talked to the police about the guard who had neither died nor reported back, and after that... well, after that everything was Wulfryk's fault. Again. He had to drag Argis to the damned theatre and in front of the camera. Sybilla the Condor saw their picture in the Morndas edition of her beloved pulp magazine and recognized the hulking one-eyed Nord from when he had applied for a job at the bureau.

Argis briefly wondered what had happened to Vorstag. The warrior was the only other guard who had not died the night of Maro's assassination, but Argis had not heard from him since. If he was smart, he would keep his head down, maybe make an extended trip to visit his family back in Skyrim.

If he had been clever, Argis would have done the same.

Except that his family lived a quiet, unexciting life in one of the smallest rural communities the Reach had to offer, believing that he was nothing more than a drill sergeant. Argis fully intended to keep them ignorant of what he truly did for a living.

 

But some cocky piece of prison trash? He could have a taste.

Half an hour later the cell's gates closed behind the blond Nord with a clatter, and the guards, still snickering, disappeared around the corner. _Soften him up_. What a load of crap. Well, the joke was on them. He wouldn't have to clean up come morning. Argis looked after the men to make sure they were truly gone, and the lout who believed himself to be tough enough to take him on misinterpreted it as worry. His tattooed face was distorted by an ugly grin that showed the yellow, ruined teeth of a long-time drug addict.

Argis cracked his knuckles, tilted his head to the side until his neck popped, and then proceeded to teach those too dim to understand on their own why you did not mess with a former legionnaire.

He got left in peace afterwards, and stretched out on the only bench this place had to offer. The warrior took a deep breath and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift in a state somewhere between watchfulness and actual rest.

The other inmates – those that could still sit – were crowded on the other side of the cell, as if afraid that the loss of teeth and consciousness was catching. Those that still could sit, that was. Those who could not were welcome to the floor.

Inkface was currently making liberal use of that right.

On the next morning Argis was questioned by a police officer who was painfully ignorant about how to conduct a proper interrogation, and chose to answer the torrent of questions with stoic silence. The warrior knew that he was a mere suspect. Sooner or later they would have to let him go due to lack of evidence. How soon depended on the zeal of the prosecutor.

It didn't change the fact that they didn't have anything on him other than some bodily harm from yesterday, which was clearly the result of rightful self-defence, and the fact that he had been Maro's guard. He had not as much as touched the Imperial the evening the man had died, and he did not believe that the police had found anything of his on the site of the murder. From what he had seen of them, Wulfryk's team was too thorough for that.

Eventually the inspector gave up.

Argis was led to his future quarters, nourishing the revenge fantasy that Varo would get his own investigation on how half his workforce was illegally employed. Which led him to thoughts about how he was due with payment of his taxes. For the last ten or so years. Crap. Maybe he wasn't here because of Maro, after all.

The sudden thought made Argis burst out laughing, and the guards escorting him eyed the Nord nervously, their fingers twitching against their batons.

He was put in a room of four, with the other inmates giving the blond warrior a wide berth. Apparently word had gotten around that he was some sort of maniac serial killer.

Argis did nothing to disperse the rumour.

His life took on a new routine, and though he was anything but happy about the change, Argis settled into it with ease. At least he was allowed visits to the gym and the library, and made good use of both to break up the monotony. They were the only means to pass the time, apart from methodically killing one's brains with television, and he wasn't that desperate yet.

Prison, it turned out, had all the ambience of a public toilet. Argis chose to share that particular piece of insight with the nearest guard on duty on the morning of one dreary, rain-darkened day.

"Tell me about it," the man muttered dismally, "I have to work here."

And just like that Argis had made a friend, or what counted for one in this place. He was doing nothing more than what he had been trained for; to undermine and find potential allies, and he thought he was doing well on that front considering the short time of his incarceration.

Two days later, that fucker drew a gun on him.

It happened during the midday meal, right after Argis sat down to savour the prison cuisine. He was blowing on a forkful of overcooked pasta, because the steam rising from it indicated that it was just about nuclear in heat, when he noticed a figure break away from the queue of prisoners waiting for their food.

Weird, that he would leave without getting his ration. The man shuffled closer and Argis tensed. There was just something... familiar... about him. The knowledge that he had met him before was like a burr, an itch under his skin.

He never got to find out more.

Argis wasn't sure what set him off, whether it was the cold calculation in the other man's eyes, or the diminutive motion of his hand to his side, the telltale sign of a practiced gunman. He was already diving under the table when the firearm went off, blowing the brains of the unfortunate sod behind him all over the place.

For the fraction of a second the mess hall was plunged in total silence. Then, chaos erupted. Panicked prisoners ran for the exits, and the guards could do nothing more than stand aside lest they be trampled in the onrush.

Argis used the confusion to feel around for anything that could be used as a weapon, and cursed when he drew up a blank. Fuck prison for bolting the tables and seats to the floor! Then his questing hand encountered something that made him hiss in pain. He grabbed the object and hurled it in the direction of the shooter.

A heartbeat later a scream rose above the clamour of shouts and footsteps. Before the distraction lost its element of surprise, Argis was leaping over the furniture to face his would-be assassin. The man stood bent over at the middle, got nearly knocked over and struggled to stay upright when somebody knocked into him. When he looked up, Argis could see half of his face covered in blistering burns. He saw the blond Nord bearing down on him, eyes going wide, mouth slack.

"Oh shit," was all he managed to get out. Not particularly memorable, as far as last words went.

To give him credit, the guy did not go out without putting up one hell of a fight, but anybody went down with shattered kneecaps. Argis ignored his shrieks as he pushed his fingers into his eye socket to get a better grip on his head, pulled it back and smashed his knee into the other man's neck, just below his skull. A wet crunch followed, and the struggles ceased.

Even so it took more than one go to achieve the desired level of deadness.

Argis _could_ probably have subdued him, though if the man was who he suspected, then the last thing he wanted was him surviving to be questioned by the police.

Argis dropped the body, wiped his hands on his thighs, and sent a prayer to the Nine that he was wrong.

 

He was placed in solitary, a safety measure which ensured that there were no more incidents that might end his imprisonment before he was officially released.

A few days later Argis was ordered to court. He had been given a Kevlar vest and his very own escort who looked every bit as ill at ease as he felt.

The warrior was not surprised to find a stranger already there, waiting for him.

It was a reedy man dressed in an old-fashioned brown suit, who sported an impressive moustache and wore his thinning grey hair in a neat ponytail held in place by a clasp that looked as ancient as he had to be. He introduced himself as 'Vignar' and shifted a heavy leather briefcase to his left hand so he could extend his right in greeting.

"I did not know you had a lawyer," the guard who was almost-a-friend, asked.

"Neither did I." Argis ignored the proffered hand and continued to eye the briefcase warily, wondering what its contents were. "Did the Ruadth Ros send you?" the warrior asked finally, dreading the answer. Ten years and he still knew every code, as if they had been drilled into him only yesterday.

But the man only blinked in confusion and shook his head.

"Forgive me, but I think you are mistaken. I am here on behalf of – "

"Me," an all too familiar voice spoke up from behind Argis, and the warrior's initial reaction actually was to feel relief course through him.

Maybe he had been wrong, after all. Please, let him be wrong. "Why do we always meet in the weirdest of places?"

Wulfryk flashed his teeth in a fleeting grin of genuine amusement, but he did not respond to the question other than to say, "Judge is waiting."

The judge was an Imperial that bore a striking, if disconcerting resemblance to the officer who had been sent to arrest Argis. Vignar did most of the talking, and Argis followed the lawyer's clues about which questions to answer, and when to remain silent. Wulf contributed by fiddling with his tie.

The hearing was almost over before Argis had quite wrapped his mind around the fact that it looked like he might walk free, especially when the lawyer argued that the former legionnaire was a friend of the family and that Mr Aemilius would vouch for him.

The judge looked like Mr Aemilius had pissed in her cereal, but relented. "His bail has been set to three hundred thousand."

Wulf did not look pleased upon hearing the sum – a number which made Argis slightly queasy – but he reached into his breast pocked to pull out a black fountain pen without hesitation. "I hope you accept cheques."

 

Argis squinted at the endless blue of the sky above him. He had missed the sight. He had missed the sun, too, and air that was cool and fresh and whipped his braided hair around. He had no idea how Wulfryk had managed to pull him out of jail after only two weeks. Unless he was mistaken there should have been at least another hearing; but did it really come as a surprise that Mr Aemilius had somehow skipped right past that? Apparently the man couldn't pour himself a glass of water without breaking a dozen laws.

Not that Argis was complaining. He was just feeling very much out of his depth. Politics wasn't an enemy that you could face head-on and he had always hated subterfuge and counter-intelligence.

The warrior turned when he heard the crunch of approaching footsteps.

Wulf stopped an arm's length away, a distance that could be the result of mere happenstance or careful calculation on his part. He leaned against a nearby lamppost, feet crossed at the ankle, his body language one of languor and fished out a pack of cigarettes.

Argis watched the other man's moves as he pulled one cigarette out, and then patted his pockets down in search of a lighter. A moment later fire flickered, barely visible through his cupped hands, and then a plum of white smoke rose from Wulf's lips as he tilted his head to mirror Argis' former action, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Whether the sky provided the answer he was looking for Argis did not know, but eventually Wulfryk seemed to become aware of the blond warrior studying his profile. Then, as if the matter was already decided, he said, "Come by my office on Morndas."

The man never gave up, did he? Argis shook his head, adjusting the strap of his bag so it wouldn't dig into his shoulder. "I don't think this is wise," he said.

Wulf flicked ash on the pavement, watching as the wind made the end of his cigarette light up a bright red. "Trust me, it is merely a business arrangement I want to discuss."

It was delivered curtly, and professionally, and Argis did not have to ask what business Wulfryk meant. He didn't want to think about what the offer might entail right now. The warrior chuckled without amusement, deciding that a distraction was in order. "Are you going to pay me to spend time with you?"

Wulf actually looked upset at the comment. His head whipped around fast enough he nearly knocked his forehead against the lamppost, dark eyebrows creasing with hurt. "I wouldn't do that."

Argis was only half-buying the wounded gaze he found himself being held captive by. "Pity," he said through a suddenly dry throat. "Cause it seems I owe you a shitload of money."

It was hard not to be self-conscious; broke, without work, freshly out of prison and with a huge coffee stain not too far from his crotch. Well done, Argis. Your ancestors would be so proud of you.

Wulf shrugged, his features smoothing back into the unreadable mask of haughty indifference that he had cultivated to perfection. "I will get it back – as long as you _don't bail on_ _me_." He extinguished his cigarette against the same lantern he was leaning on, and tossed it past the curb.

It seemed a waste to have lit it all. He had not taken more than two drags of it.

Argis' eye followed the flash white until it got crushed under the wheels of a passing cab. The blond warrior studiously ignored the not too subtle threat, and the metaphor that came to mind; of being snuffed at done away with should he inconvenience the entrepreneur.

Instead he turned the idea of absconding over in his head again. Though it would make him look guilty as hell, he might do just that – seeing how the Imperial City wasn't becoming him lately. Run, and see if Igmund could set him up with a nice cottage somewhere hidden within the deep valleys of the Druadachs. He had always loved the mountains. Perhaps it was time for a change of scenery.

'As long as it does not include watching the veggies grow from below,' a quaky voice within him cited. Argis always had wondered why the most pessimistic part of his mind sounded like his late gramps.

"Are you carrying?" he asked the man next to him in a soft voice, careful not to be overheard.

They both seemed to be equally surprised at the unexpected question. Wulf's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, but he did pull back his suit a bit to show more of the shirt he wore underneath. "Not in court, I'm not."

"I need a gun," Argis said, keeping his good eye on Wulf's. And the reason he was asking Wulfryk and not one of his army friends? He couldn't think of one straight away, except that he did not want to pull his comrades into this mess. Because he knew they would insist on getting involved.

Sardonically, "And I can trust you not to shoot me with it?"

"I might not live long enough to have the pleasure," Argis countered sourly.

That sobered Wulfryk right up. "Who was trying to have you killed?"

Argis didn't even ask how he had found out about that. He turned to face the dark haired Nord fully. "Part of my money was on it being you."

"I admit, I may have given the matter some thought," Wulf said without any apparent discomfort.

"But instead you'd rather buy my silence?" Argis enquired.

"I don't think this is the right place for this discussion," Wulf said and pushed away from the post. He was already making for the other side of the road where a black SUV flashed its lights when he unlocked it.

Argis nearly got himself run over by a brown delivery van before he caught up to the other Nord, cutting off his way. "I think it's bloody perfect."

A car honked at them, reminding them to take their discussion off the lane.

"As you wish." Wulf impatiently gestured at the car. They got in and he seemed to relax marginally. "No, I do not want to bribe you," he said, looking firmly ahead. His next words managed to surprise Argis. "I want to recruit you."

"Why?"

He knew he wasn't getting the truth out of the other man today, when Wulfryk graced him with a smile that would be best described as wistful. "Just something faði used to say," the dark haired Nord told him. "If they're too tough a sonofabitch to kill, best make sure they're on your side."

It wasn't a promise, or the assurance Argis needed, but it was all he was going to get. He quickly went through the options left to him. What he needed most, was more time.

"When do you want me to start?" he asked. He could always cut and run later.

The smile he received in return was almost worth the concession.

"I knew I was irresistible."

Argis snorted at the terrible line. Here was the man he had joked and drank – and liberally flirted with. Several answers raced through the blond's head, along with a few things he wished to tell the other Nord, but saved for another time.

 _You_ _are_ _a_ _pretentious_ _prick_ _._ _You're_ _cute_ _when_ _you're_ _drunk_ _._ _Your_ _sense_ _of_ _humour is appalling. Please, tell me we will fuck again._

Despite himself he was feeling a bit better. Wulf might only be conducting 'business', but if this offer of his was serious, then it would be in his own interest to look after the warrior.

He deserved to know a sliver of the truth.

"Whatever happens today," Argis told the other man, "you stay out of it. If I'm right, then money and a name won't protect you."

Wulf nodded, then cursed vividly. "This is stupid. I shouldn't be doing this." He punched the wheel and the car honked. Wulf jumped a little and gave his vehicle a soothing pat on the dashboard.

Argis kept quiet. If their positions had been reversed, he would not have trusted himself, but Wulf opened the glove compartment and handed him a Berretta, ammo, and after some hesitation a knife of some dull grey metal that Argis couldn't quite place.

"I'll see you on Morndas." It was a dismissal, yet surprisingly it sounded like a promise.

At least one of them was confident he would come back.

 

Although everything appeared to be peaceful, Argis felt that he was being watched. His hand hovered above the doorknob, before he forced himself to insert the key into the lock, knowing that he was giving himself away. Like all the other houses in the neighbourhood his home was a small, red-brown two-storey building made of brick. The warrior nodded to the old man who was taking his stroller and his aging Colovian shepherd for an afternoon walk, before he unlocked his door. The action was accompanied by the barely audible sound of the tumblers turning, and then the door swung inward soundlessly.

In his absence, somebody had oiled the hinges. How bloody considerate of them.

Argis was glad to have that gun.

Nobody accosted him in the hallway, but there were three people occupying his couch in the living room.

In the middle sat a lad that looked like he should wear his scout uniform and ring on other people's doorbells to sell lemonade and cookies. Or was that only for the girls? The woman to boy-scout's right had a heavy brow and a prominent underbite to which she wore army greens and a scowl that told the blond that she'd sooner mug you than offer you homemade bakery.

But it wasn't them Argis cared about. It was the man on the left, and it took the Nord a second to recall the name that went with the lined face. The grey hair was the same, except that maybe it was now a tad lighter from additional white, and so were the hard eyes of a predator.

He had last seen Carsten over a decade ago. He was the man who had recruited him, years back, when Ulfric had been looking for able bodied men and women willing to fight the Forsworn.

"You."

Carsten nodded in wary acknowledgement. "Argis."

"What do you want?" The warrior detoured over to the fridge and took a six pack of beer out of it. Seeing his former recruiter here had shaken him, but the action served more purposes than to get some liquid courage for him to fortify himself with.

The open kitchen commanded a good view of most of the house, and it gave Argis the opportunity to check if there were any more soldiers lurking where they shouldn't. He didn't see anybody and took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. There was a reason they had sent Carsten here. Argis came back to find all gazes trained on him. He set the beer down, and helped himself to one of the bottles of which he did not offer his unbidden guests any.

No, he didn't think those three were here to kill him.

Not after the army had already botched up their first attempt so spectacularly.

"And I hope you put all my things back to where they belong."

The way boy-scout's eyes darted around nervously told him he had hit the nail on the head. His friend glowered at the warrior. If she'd had asthma, she would have been the best impersonator of a bulldog he had ever seen.

"You do not seem surprised," Carsten said, half-proud and half-sad.

"A standard issue P80 isn't something they sell in prison, you know," Argis retorted, using the doorway to open his second bottle of stout.

"He went after you with a gun?" the officer enquired incredulously.

"Makes you wonder what idiot is in charge, doesn't it?" Argis asked with forced levity in his voice.

The older Nord shook his head. "More like how you survived."

Argis lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "He was a lousy shot. I wasn't."

"What could you have shot him with?" the pug-nosed soldier burst out.

"Macaroni and cheese," the blond warrior replied truthfully. One shouldn't ever underestimate the lethality of prison food, especially when served burning hot and in an unbreakable plastic bowl.

While the others were busy picking up their jaws from the floor, Carsten carried on. "I just wanted you to know that I disapproved," the other Nord stated. "It was a rash decision and I was outvoted." He looked and sounded like he meant it.

It made Argis' blood boil. "Sincerely, fuck you."

The old soldier nodded, accepting Argis' anger. He may have felt sorry, but an errant sentiment of regret did not stop him from following his superiors' orders. "We have an assignment for you," he told the warrior, just like he had used to when Argis had still been his model recruit.

But Argis was that man no longer. "I quit four years ago," he reminded the officer. Whatever it was, he did not want to know. He was done with this sort of shit.

A brief pause followed in which the two other soldiers shifted uncomfortably. Carsten seemed to be searching for words, but if those had ever been his forte, he would have risen above the rank of sergeant. So he just laid the facts out plain, in the same voice he had used to discuss combat strategy. "There are doubts concerning your loyalty."

"My loyalty," Argis repeated to make sure he had not misheard. An even longer silence followed.

Boy Scout took the opportunity to make a grab for one of the remaining four bottles on the table.

"Touch my beer you mongrel whoreson and I'll put your fucking face through the fucking wall." Argis did not have to raise his voice; the simple truth that he would do exactly as he threatened leant a deadly edge to his otherwise friendly tome. The lad's face, including his freckles, turned whiter than freshly cured cheese. If this was what the military had to offer these days, he was glad to have left. Argis turned back to Carsten. His outward calm bellied the turmoil of emotion raging within him. After everything he had done for them, after they had tried to murder him, he was now the one being accused of treason.

"I gave you ten years of my life." He couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice anymore. "Or have you forgotten what happened in Arenthia?" Argis reminded the officer of the fateful mission four years ago that had led to his retirement. "Those bastards cut up my face and burned out my eye and I did not speak. I wouldn't have if they'd taken the other one. But now you fear that soggy food and bunk beds will break me?"

He might be disgusted at how much the legion's cold dismissal of him hurt, but once he had called those people his family. Once, he would have voluntarily laid down his life, back when he had still believed in their cause.

"Please." The old legionnaire lifted his hands in a placating manner. "I need you to understand that it is not my decision to make." He pulled out a folder and held it out like the cardboard was a shield that could shelter him from the blond's anger. "Wulfryk Aemilius," Carsten read, though he had to know the contents of the file by heart. "What is your relationship with that man?"

"My grandmother and his mother are on the same team in their bridge club," Argis replied, and congratulated himself on his composed tone when he felt anything but calm. This... this he had not expected.

If Carsten had hoped to catch him unawares, he did not show his disappointment, though the officer studied him for a moment longer, before those piercing eyes dropped back to the stack of papers in his hands.

There weren't many advantages to having your face mutilated to the point where it was half-paralyzed, but it _did_ make for one hell of a poker face.

"What... else... do you know about the man," the other Nord asked after a heartbeat of hesitation.

"He runs a freight business," Argis replied, knowing that he was being assessed and not giving any ground.

The corners of Carsten's mouth pulled downwards the way they had used to when he had been dealing with a particularly difficult recruit. "He has the monopoly on nearly all trade in and around the Imperial city," the soldier said with something akin to disgust.

"So?" Argis took a pull from the bottle. "Last time I looked that was a matter for the Elder Council, and not a crime."

"He has been deemed a threat to national security," Carsten continued, unperturbed. "Aemilius is suspected of subversion, illegal weapon possession and dealership, and he is known to have ties to both the Thalmor and the Skyrim Resistance."

Argis shook his head. "Not my problem."

"It is now. Because – ," he confirmed all of Argis' earlier suspicions by pulling out a society magazine, with a picture of Wulf and Argis together on the front page, "– you seem awfully chummy together.

Argis replied with stony silence. There wasn't much he could say in his defence that wouldn't make him sound like a desperate liar.

Carsten took it as a sign to press his cause. "Get close to him. Find out what you can. Report it to the High Lord Chancellor. Do this one last mission and we'll set you up for life."

"This couldn't have been approved by the Council."

"The orders come directly from the Emperor's office."

'Not the Emperor himself, then?' Argis bit his tongue before the question could pass his lips. It was disconcerting news to be pondered over at a later time. Carsten had revealed more than he should have. The man was oblivious to his own lapse, but Argis' training allowed him to pick up on such irregularities like a bloodhound did wounded game.

He had been promised he wouldn't have to go back after the massacre that had ended his career and had led to the disbandment of their unit.

"Is that all?" the warrior asked, the now empty bottle of beer dangling loosely from his fingers, ready to be used in an instant, if the need arose. Had better weapons, but nothing rivalled the feeling of taking your opponent apart up close and personal.

"For now," Carsten said.

"Good. Then you can get the fuck out of my house now."

Argis did not see them to the door, but he did check they were gone for good before he allowed himself to collapse into a battered armchair. The couch would have been more comfortable, but it felt contaminated.

The warrior did not stir for a long time, listening to the fading noise of a car driving by, the bark of a dog a few streets down, and the tick of the grandfather clock on the far wall. Eventually he took a deep breath, and opened the folder Carsten had left behind, only to find Wulf's blue eyes looking directly at him.

Fuck beer, he was going to need something that could get him properly shitfaced.

'Get close to him,' Argis muttered an hour and half a bottle of whisky later. Well, damn. Wasn't it lucky of him to get himself employed by Mr. Aemilius personally? Because Atmora would thaw and Oblivion would freeze over ere he had kept that gaudy flower bouquet.


End file.
